for vengeance awake!

Here a large greyhound, bounding up the glen, jumped upon Flora, and
interrupted her music by his importunate caresses. At a distant whistle,
he turned, and shot down the path again with the rapidity of an arrow.
'That is Fergus's faithful attendant, Captain Waverley, and that was his
signal. He likes no poetry but what is humorous, and comes in good time
to interrupt my long catalogue of the tribes, whom one of your saucy
English poets calls

Our bootless host of high-born beggars,
Mac-Leans, Mac-Kenzies, and Mac-Gregors.'

Waverley expressed his regret at the interruption.

'Oh, you cannot guess how much you have lost! The bard, as in duty
bound, has addressed three long stanzas to Vich Ian Vohr of the Banners,
enumerating all his great properties, and not forgetting his being a
cheerer of the harper and bard,--"a giver of bounteous gifts." Besides,
you should have heard a practical admonition to the fair-haired son of
the stranger, who lives in the land where the grass is always green--the
rider on the shining pampered steed, whose hue is like the raven, and
whose neigh is like the scream of the eagle for battle. This valiant
horseman is affectionately conjured to remember that his ancestors were
distinguished by their loyalty, as well as by their courage.--All this
you have lost; but, since your curiosity is not satisfied, I judge, from
the distant sound of my brother's whistle, I may have time to sing the
concluding stanzas before he comes to laugh at my translation.'

Awake on your hills, on your islands awake,
Brave sons of the mountain, the frith, and the lake!
'Tis the bugle--but not for the chase is the call;
'Tis the pibroch's shrill summons--but not to the hall.

'Tis the summons of heroes for conquest or death,
When the banners are blazing on mountain and heath:
They call to the dirk, the claymore, and the targe,
To the march and the muster, the line and the charge.

Be the brand of each Chieftain like Fin's in his ire!
May the blood through his veins flow like currents of fire!
Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did of yore,
Or die like your sires, and endure it no more!

CHAPTER XXIII

WAVERLEY CONTINUES AT GLENNAQUOICH

As Flora concluded her song, Fergus stood before them. 'I knew I should
find you here, even without the assistance of my friend Bran. A simple
and unsublimed taste now, lik