O, Heard Ye Yon Pibroch Sound Sad In The Gale, Where A Band Cometh Slowly With Weeping And Wail? 'Tis The Chief Of Glenara Laments For His Dear; And Her Sire And Her People Are Called To Her Bier. Glenara Came First, With The Mourners And Shroud; Her Kinsmen They Followed, But Mourned Not Aloud; Their Plaids All Their Bosoms Were Folded Around; They Marched All In Silence, They Looked On The Ground. In Silence They Reached, Over Mountain And Moor, To A Heath Where The Oak-Tree Grew Lonely And Hoar; "Now Here Let Us Place The Gray Stone Of Her Cairn; Why Speak Ye No Word?" Said Glenara The Stern. "And Tell Me, I Charge Ye, Ye Clan Of My Spouse, Why Fold Ye Your Mantles, Why Cloud Ye Your Brows?" So Spake The Rude Chieftain; No Answer Is Made. But Each Mantle, Unfolding, A Dagger Displayed. "I Dreamt Of My Lady, I Dreamt Of Her Shroud." Cried A Voice From The Kinsmen, All Wrathful And Loud; "And Empty That Shroud And That Coffin Did Seem; Glenara! Glenara! Now Read Me My Dream!" O, Pale Grew The Cheek Of That Chieftain, I Ween, When The Shroud Was Unclosed And No Lady Was Seen; When A Voice From The Kinsmen Spoke Louder In Scorn, 'Twas The Youth Who Had Loved The Fair Ellen Of Lorn, "I Dreamt Of My Lady, I Dreamt Of Her Grief, I Dreamt That Her Lord Was A Barbarous Chief; On A Rock Of The Ocean Fair Ellen Did Seem; Glenara! Glenara! Now Read Me My Dream!" In Dust Low The Traitor Has Knelt To The Ground, And The Desert Revealed Where His Lady Was Found; From A Rock Of The Ocean That Beauty Is Borne; Now Joy To The House Of Fair Ellen Of Lorn.