At length they came where, stern and steep, The hill sinks down upon the deep.
Here Vennachar in silver flows, There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose;Ever the hollow path twined on, Beneath steep hank and threatening stone;A hundred men might hold the post With hardihood against a host.
The rugged mountain's scanty cloak Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak With shingles bare, and cliffs between And patches bright of bracken green, And heather black, that waved so high, It held the copse in rivalry.
But where the lake slept deep and still Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill;And oft both path and hill were torn Where wintry torrent down had borne And heaped upon the cumbered land Its wreck of gravel, rocks, and sand.
So toilsome was the road to trace The guide, abating of his pace, Led slowly through the pass's jaws And asked Fitz-James by what strange cause He sought these wilds, traversed by few Without a pass from Roderick Dhu.
