⁠To conquer or to fall;
They dash into the boiling flood,
⁠They gain the rock's steep wall.

'Now, my brave men, this one pass more,
⁠This narrow chasm of stone,
And Douglas for our sovereign's gore
⁠Shall yield us back his own.'

I hear their ever-rising tread
⁠Sound through the granite glen;
There is a tall pine overhead
⁠Held by the mountain men.

That dizzy bridge which no horse could track
⁠Has checked the outlaw's way;
There like a wild beast turns he back,
⁠And grimly stands at bay.

Why smiles he so, when far below
⁠He spies the toiling chase?
The pond'rous tree sways heavily,
⁠And totters from its place.

They raise their eyes, for the sunny skies
⁠Are lost in sudden shade;
But Douglas neither shrinks nor flies,
⁠He need not fear the dead.