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Nor wanted there the chiefs among
Some fiery heads that, right or wrong,
Would blow this breeze into a storm.
First of these chiefs was Donald Gorm,
Whose spirit, like the waves that roar
For ever on his stormy shore,
Was ne'er at ease by night or day,
But restless and perturbed as they.
Among the clansmen of his name,
Revenge was his perpetual theme,
Until so fierce his fury burn'd,
His sovereign's faith aside was spurn'd;
And, if to join him there was none,
He'd break the truce and fight alone!