Interlude before Earl Walter

Abrupt as glance of morning sun.
The bard of Lomond's lay is done.
Loves not the swain, from path of dew,
At morn the golden orb to view,
Rise broad and yellow from the main,
While scarce a shadow lines the plain ;
Well knows he then the gathering cloud
Shall all his noontide glories shroud, —
Like smile of morn before the rain,
Appeared the minstrel's mounting strain.
As easy inexperienced hind,
Who sees not coming rains and wind,
The beacon of the dawning hour,
Nor notes the blink before the shower,
Astonished, 'mid his open grain,
Sees round him pour the sudden rain —
So looked the still attentive throng,
When closed at once Macfarlane's song.

Time was it — when he gan to tell
Of spectre stern, and barge of hell ;
Loud, and more loud, the minstrel sung ;
Loud, and more loud, the chords he rung
Wild grew his looks, for well he knew,
The scene was dread, the tale was true ;
And ere Loch-Ketturine's wave was won,
Faltered his voice, his breath was done.
He raised his brown hand to his brow,
To veil his eye's enraptured glow ;
Flung back his locks of silver gray,
Lifted his crutch, and limped away.

The bard of Clyde stepped next in view
Tall was his form, his harp was new ;
Brightened his dark eye as he sung ;
A stammer fluttered on his tongue ;
A captain in the wars was he,
And sprung of noble pedigree.