Chapter XXVII

Methinks I see it all within yon dell,
Where trembles thro' the leaves the clear moonlight;
Say, Druid Oak, can'st not the story tell?
Why met they thus? and wherefore did they fight?
And wept his maiden much? and who was he,
Who thus so calmly bore his agony?
Sang he his death song well? was he a chief?
And mourned his nation long in notes of lengthened grief?