University of Virginia Library

But Donald Gorm had other scheme
Than thus on battle clang to dream:
He panted for the waking fight,
The blood and havoc of the night;
The silent rush on prostrate foe;
The stroke, the stab, the overthrow;
Their mortal terror, flight, and thrall,
And captive king—the best of all!
A thousand times, with grin and growl,
Did Donald curse the minstrel's howl;
Then roll'd him on his russet floor,
And railed against the lagging hour.
For every minute in its flight,
From evening till the noon of night,
Was fetter laid on Donald's might.