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Come, pipes, sound A crooning coronach round, Till hill and hollow glen and shadowed lake o’erflow With welling music of our woe.

On one grave a young woman was rocking herself to and fro, wailing with a sound like the Highland coronach, but longer and more despairing.

Then a pause, and anon the coronach or wail for the dead.

It were pity to deny my delicate cousin the luxury of a coronach over the swollen corpse of her minion!’

The open door will invite them into the sanctuary of peace, and they will croon the coronach of their woe in the holy place.