The Saying of the Name
On the loch-sides of Appin, When the mist blew from the sea, A Stewart stood with a Cameron: An angry man was he. The blood beat in his ears, The blood ran hot to his head, The mist blew from the sea, And there was the Cameron dead. “O, what have I done to my friend, O, what have I done to mysel’, That he should be cold and dead, And I in the danger of all?
“Nothing but danger about me, Danger behind and before, Death at wait in the heather In Appin and Mamore, Hate at all of the ferries, And death at each of the fords, Camerons priming gun-locks And Camerons sharpening swords.”
But this was a man of counsel, This was a man of a score, There dwelt no pawkier Stewart In Appin or Mamore. He looked on the blowing mist, He looked on the awful dead, And there came a smile on his face And there slipped a thought in his head.
Out over cairn and moss, Out over scrog and scaur, He ran as runs the clansman That bears the cross of war. His heart beat in his body, His hair clove to his face, When he came at last in the gloaming To the dead man’s brother’s place. The east was white with the moon, The west with the sun was red, And there, in the house-doorway, Stood the brother of the dead.
“I have slain a man to my danger, I have slain a man to my death. I put my soul in your hands,” The panting Stewart saith. “I lay it bare in your hands, For I know your hands are leal; And be you my targe and bulwark From the bullet and the steel.”