"All nations have their omens drear, Their legends wild of woe and fear. To Cambria look—the peasant see Bethink him of Glendowerdy, And shun “the spirit’s blasted tree.” The Highlander, whose red claymore The battle turned on Maida’s shore, Will, on a Friday morn, look pale, If asked to tell a fairy tale: He fears the vengeful elfin king, Who leaves that day his grassy ring: Invisible to human ken, He walks among the sons of men."