Then Lauder’s forest to the bugle rung, Startling marauders from their mountain prey, As morning rose, deplored by old and young, Where ravaged round the burning farm-yards lay; These were fierce men, the scourges of their day, Who on the sea of venture did embark, And, as we’re told in Maitland’s doleful lay, Spared neither house nor stable, church nor ark, And loved the midnight ride, because their deeds were dark.