ourteously drank to his
health. This ceremony being requited in kind, the Chieftain made a signal
for the pipes to cease, and said aloud, 'Where is the song hidden, my
friends, that Mac-Murrough cannot find it?'

Mac-Murrough, the family bhairdh, an aged man, immediately took the hint,
and began to chant, with low and rapid utterance, a profusion of Celtic
verses, which were received by the audience with all the applause of
enthusiasm. As he advanced in his declamation, his ardour seemed to
increase. He had at first spoken with his eyes fixed on the ground; he
now cast them around as if beseeching, and anon as if commanding,
attention, and his tones rose into wild and impassioned notes,
accompanied with appropriate gestures. He seemed to Edward, who attended
to him with much interest, to recite many proper names, to lament the
dead, to apostrophise the absent, to exhort, and entreat, and animate
those who were present. Waverley thought he even discerned his own name,
and was convinced his conjecture was right from the eyes of the company
being at that moment turned towards him simultaneously. The ardour of the
poet appeared to communicate itself to the audience. Their wild and
sun-burnt countenances assumed a fiercer and more animated expression;
all bent forward towards the reciter, many sprung up and waved their arms
in ecstasy, and some laid their hands on their swords. When the song
ceased, there was a deep pause, while the aroused feelings of the poet
and of the hearers gradually subsided into their usual channel.

The Chieftain, who, during this scene had appeared rather to watch the
emotions which were excited than to partake their high tone of
enthusiasm, filled with claret a small silver cup which stood by him.
'Give this,' he said to an attendant, 'to Mac-Murrough nan Fonn (i.e. of
the songs), and when he has drank the juice, bid him keep, for the sake
of Vich Ian Vohr, the shell of the gourd which contained it.' The gift
was received by Mac-Murrough with profound gratitude; he drank the wine,
and, kissing the cup, shrouded it with reverence in the plaid which was
folded on his bosom. He then burst forth into what Edward justly supposed
to be an extemporaneous effusion of thanks and praises of his Chief. It
was received with applause, but did not produce the effect of his first
poem. It was obvious, however, that the clan regarded the generosity of
their Chieftain with high approbation. Many approved Gaelic to