The Highlands, the Scottish Martyrs, and other Poems

Front matter

_*7,7 2_._7_X_r___ Joseph Swii/i ' '0 ■■ '^/A) / THE HIGHLANDS, the SCOTTISH MARTYRS, AND OTHER POEMS. BY THE EEV. JAMES G. SMALL. EDINBURGH : WILLIAM WHYTE AND COMPANY, BOOKaKLLEBS TO THE QUEEN DOWAGEK. GLASGOW : W. COLLINS. LONDON : LONGMAN & CO. i AND J. NI8BET & CO. DUBLIN: W. CURRY, JUN. & CO. BELFAST : W. M'COMB. M.DCCO.XLIII. KDIMBl'KbM PWNTlNii COM PAH T, 12, SOUTH ST DAVrD S'IRKbT. TO PROFESSOR WILSON, THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED, WITH FEELINGS OF ADMIRATION, ESTEEM, AND GRATITUDE, BY THE AUTHOR.

Preface

. In venturing to lay before the Public a volume of Poems, written, for the most part, during his literary course at College, the Author feels that some apo logy may naturally be expected, — even though no apology can suffice for his vindication, if the com positions are in themselves incapable of imparting that pleasure which has been said to be the end of Poetry, or that benefit, the bestowal of which is a yet higher, and, at least, as legitimate an aim of the Poet. How far the following productions are fitted to advance either of these objects, the Author con fesses himself unable to determine ; and, had he not been encouraged by the opinion pronounced upon them by more than one of those on whose judg ment he, in common with thousands, places the highest reliance, it is not probable that he would have had courage to commit them to the press.

Should it be asked, why, if these things were fit for publication at all, were they not published when they were first written ? a sufficient answer might VI

PREFACE.

. by some be found in the injunction of the old mas ter of the Poetic Art : — " Si quid tamen olim Soripseris, in Mæti descendat judicis aures, Et patris, et nostras, nonumque prematur in annum, Membranis intus positis." To these instructions he has given obedience, and his earlier attempts have, in literal compliance therewith, maintained their seclusion till the ninth year. Those, however, who have no such confidence, either in the virtues of lock or key, or in the efficacy of good advice in making good poets, may still in quire, what has happened during this interval to make these lays more worthy of the light than they were at first ? To such he would answer, that since the years 1836-37, when the two principal poems were written as prize compositions for Professor Wilson's Class, he has at various periods, particularly during occasional rambles in that district which is the theme of the first of them, been led to prolong the strains then begun, till, though far from exhausting their subjects, or doing them justice, they have at least advanced more nearly to that end, than he at first anticipated.

Recent events, too, having given an additional interest to subjects in themselves so worthy of the lyre, he is not without the hope that there may be many breasts which will not merely respond to his strains, simple as they are, but will return them with a redoubling echo, which will

PREFACE.

. V compensate for the feebleness of the voice which gives them forth. In the Poem on the Scottish Martyrs, it has not been his aim to present a highly-coloured picture of the character and sufferings of our forefathers, or to deck out his descriptions with polished verse or sounding diction. He has rather endeavoured to maintain somewhat of that simplicity and scriptural tone which pervades the narratives of the old chro niclers of these extraordinary times — " times Whose echo rings through Scotland to this hour." With this view he has nearly discarded, at least in the narrative parts of the poem, that formal and ar tificial structure of verse which characterizes the productions of the school of Pope, and has attempt ed, however unsuccessfully, to unite the easy flow of blank verse with the melody of rhyme — a union which, as has been observed, is best exemplified in the Spenserian stanza, the measure which, for this reason, he has adopted in the three longest of the other poems contained in the volume.

The Poem on the Liberation of Greece is very imperfect in every sense of the word ; but from the interest of the subject having so much died away, as well as from other circumstances, he has preferred giving it just as it was written, at the age of seven teen, to making any attempt to complete or to polish it.

PREFACE.

. VIII The object which he had in view, in writing the Tale entitled " Imagination," was to trace some of the workings of an imaginative spirit in its natural and in its renewed and enlightened state. With regard to this, as to all the other poems, it is scarcely necessary to say that it would have given him much pleasure to have extended it, so as more fully to embody his ideas upon the subject ; but the truth is, that one of his principal inducements to publication at this time is, that he may remove all temptation to the further prosecution of that fasci nating art, which, indeed, he can never regret having pursued thus far — whatever may have been his success in it — but for which he can have little ex pectation of finding leisure amidst those more im portant avocations to which he looks forward with the hope that they may occupy all his thoughts.

Most of the minor pieces contained in the volume were written many years ago, and several of them have appeared in the Periodicals. A few poems of some length are yet in his desk, which, should the present be approved of, he may, perhaps, be afterwards induced to publish. In conclusion, he has only to express his gratitude to those friends whose kind encouragement has so much sustained him amidst the fears with which he anticipated the glance of the public eye upon these early and imperfect effusions. CONTENTS. PAGE THE HIGHLANDS, Canto i. Introduction — The Ancient Caledonians — Morven — Mythology of Ossian— Introduction of Christianity— The Culdees — Iona— Staffa, - - - - - 13 Canto ii. The coast of Moidart — Morning—Noon—Night—Pas sage to Skye — Armadale— The Coolin Hills — Coruisk— Strathaird's Cave — Kintail — Loch Maree — Ben Wyvis — The Dhruim — Culloden — Cawdor Castle, - - - - - 26 Canto iii.

Loch Ness — Fall of Foyers— Glen Urquhart— Glen Morriston— Glengarry— Ben Nevis— Lochiel— Loch Shie)— Moidart — Prince Charles — Glencoe — The Massacre — Loch Awe — Kilchurn Castle — Legends— Inverary— Glen Shira— Loch Tyne— The Clyde— Arran— Robert the Bruce, 45 Canto iv. Loch Katrine — Loch Achray — Loch Venacbar — Loch Ard — Lake of Menteath — Priory of Inchmahome — Influence of pure religion on the Highland character — Feehngs excited and cherished by mountain scenery — The Highlander's return from foreign coun tries—The Scottish Sabbath, - - - - 63 Canto v. The Highlands revisited— Loch Lomond— Loch Tay— Aberfeldy — Dunkeld — The Tummil — Killiecrankie — Blair Athol — The Bruar— Loch Garry— Strathairdle— Retrospect— Conclusion, S3 Notes to the Highlands, 99 THE SCOTTISH MARTYRS, - - - - 115 THE LIBERATION OF GREECE FROM THE TURKISH YOKE, 169 IMAGINATION : A TALE, ... 193 TO A MOUNTAIN STREAM, - - - -224 THE COMMUNION OF HEARTS, - - - 230 LINES TO G. S. . - - - - X CONTENTS.

PAGE LINES TO G. B. S. - - - ** 24° THE SOLACE OF IMAGINATION, - - - 243 THE SOLACE OF FRIENDSHIP, - - - 246 THE PROMISED REST, - - - - 248 LINES SUGGESTED BY THE EARLY SNOW STORMS IN 1836, 260 SONNET, ... - - 251 CHRISTIAN ASPIRATIONS, - - - - 252 LAYS OF ISRAEL, THE PASSAGE OF JORDAN,

Part III

- - 257 THE DISCOMFITURE OF THE AMORITES. - 259 DAVID'S LAMENTATION OVER SAUL AND JONATHAN, 263 PSALM XIX., - - - - - 265 PSALM XXX., 26S PSALM XLII. 1, 2, - - . 270 PSALM XC. 2, - . . . 271 ISAIAH I. 5, - - - - - 273 ISAIAH VIII. 6-8, - - - - 274 ISAIAH IX. 6, - - - - 275 ISAIAH XVIII. 4. - - - - 276 ERRATA. Page 52, line 25, for wreathes read wreaths. — 53, — 26, — secret — sacred. — 71, — 1, — heart — hearth. — 73, — 10, — dreary — dreamy. — 139, — 2, — than — as. — 205, — 13, — tare — tear. THE HIGHLANDS. A POEM. IN FIVE CANTOS. J,-,-s/ih Swan JTtimuiti THE HIGHLANDS. CANTO FIRST. I. Dull is the soul that e'er hath roamed along 'Mong Scotia's vales and hills, and hath not caught The inspiring breath that prompts to pensive song ; To whom, in seasons of sweet, silent thought, The image of these scenes is never brought, Nor fondly cherished as a precious dower ; Upon whose breast their influence hath not wrought As with a charm — whose sweetly soothing power His heart hath gladly owned in many an after hour. n. And I have felt that charm ; — and, not in vain, Upon my soul unfadingly impressed, These scenes in lively vision still remain ; For never yet hath my delighted breast Such calm, sweet, purifying joy confessed, As when 'mid these bright regions I have stood, Or as when Memory my soul hath blessed, And with her magic mirror hath renewed The image of those scenes o'er which I 've loved to brood.

Canto I. Power Of Imagination- III

Gazing o'er woods and streams, o'er vales and hills, From some deep glen or some majestic height, Say whence such deep, sublime emotion fills The musing soul, and whence such calm delight Steals o'er the heart ; — whence seem they to the sight So girt with power and wild magnificence ? Is it that, in themselves, they have the might To rouse the spirit as they please the sense, Or whence their secret charm ? Canst thou, sweet Muse, say whence ? IV. It is a glorious power, that, from the mind, Like a creative spirit, wanders forth, And on immortal wings flies, unconfined, Exulting in its might, through heaven and earth, Giving to all it looks on a new birth. 'Tis this so hallows the grey, mouldering tower ; Hence laugh the valleys with such lively mirth — Hence frown the hills with such subduing power — Hence strike the clouds such awe when 'mid the storm they lower. v. To thee, Imagination, hath been given A wondrous power, that never knows decay, To imitate the glorious work of Heaven, And breathe a living soul into the clay.

Things that are not thou call'st, and they obey ; All nature yields to thy benign control ; It needs but thy creative voice to say, " Let this fair frame have life," and, lo ! a soul, In thine own image formed, pervades the breathing whole.

CANTO I. IN VIVIFYING THE SCENES OF NATURE.

VI. Yes ! 'tis the life in Scotia's guardian hills That seems to dwell ; and in each waving wood, Lake, stream, and torrent ; it is this that fills The heart with rapture, as, in musing mood, The soul goes out upon the lake's calm flood, Or dwells among the hills ; for it can find In them companions. Now it loves to brood O'er the still waters ; now the awakened mind Commingles with the storm, associate of the wind. VII. Aud where, Imagination, dost thou reign With vaster power — or where delightest thou more To walk majestic with thy mystic train Of fancies rapturous — or where to pour Thy life-imparting influence — than o'er The savage scenes of Scotia's mountains wild ? Ah ! well thou lovest to listen to the roar Of her far torrents, and to lead thy child Entranced where ruggedhills on hills to heavenare piled.

VIII. Nor givest thou only life to all things fair, And wondrous, and sublime : thy call can bring Into the regions of the viewless air, From each deep glen, dark wood, and murmuring spring, Spirits that fly aloft on airy wing — Amid the storm career upon the blast — Glide o'er the earth, or sport on grassy ring ; Or thou canst bid thy sons behold, aghast, The forms of those who dwelt on earth in ages past.

CANTO I.

16 INVOCATION OF SPIRITS. IX. Thus he who loves with thee, alone, to stray 'Mid these wild haunts, when not a jarring sound Breaks the sweet stillness of the closing day, Feels as if walking en enchanted ground, And, wrapt in awful musing, sees around Spirits of peace or forms of terror rise ; He sees them dancing on each verdant mound, He sees them trooping from the sdent skies, And still the rugged scene grows wilder in his eyes. x. Ye gentle spirits ! ye sweet fays ! with whom, As through your own domains I lonely roved Amid the holy twilight's pensive gloom, With playful fancies pleased, I oft have loved To hold mysterious converse — far removed From the world's ceaseless strife, in some fair scene Rich in all nature's beauties, as behoved Your dwelling, where some stream purled sweet between Two hills sublime, or 'mid some ring of fairy green.

XI. Leave, lovely spirits ! those wild haunts awhile, Where most it suits ye — most ye love to dwell ; And deign, even here, upon my dreams to smile. Let your soft voices on my spirit swell, Like the sweet music of a village bell Amid your own delightful valleys pealing. Come ! to my soul tales of past ages tell, The secrets of your lonely haunts revealing, And wake, as ye have woke, each calm and holy feeling.

CANTO I. THE DATS OF OLD.

XII. Or may ye not the strong enchantment break, That binds ye to some hill, or stream, or glen ? May ye not even a while these haunts forsake — Leave your lone dwellings for the abodes of men ? Then ceme, thou pensive nymph, come, Memory, then — For with me thou hast trod each haunted place, And treasured its delights — come, pour again Their sweets upon my soul ; revive each trace Which Time aud busy thoughts have laboured to deface. XIII. Or fly upon Imagination's wing, My soul, o'er mountain wild — through rugged dell. There all thou seest shall sweet remembrance bring Of bygone days : for 'mid these scenes full well Have Purity and Freedom loved to dwell, Even when exiled from all the world beside. There many a lay upon thine ear shall swell, From distance borne along the swelling tide Of Time.

To these thou well mayest list with honest pride. XIV. For sweetly strung was Scotia's harp of old, And as, in artlessly pathetic strains, To mighty chiefs and lovely dames it told Of deeds that consecrate their native plains, Or of Love's rapturous bliss and tender pains, High beat the heart, or dropped the unbidden tear. And still each glen the voice of song retains — Still to the Highland heart these lays are dear — ■ Still loves it of the deeds of other times to hear. b2

CANTO I.

18 FEELINGS OF THE xv. Thus, joyfully, my soul, shalt thou be borne, Following Tradition's mellowed voice, away To view the varying aspect of the morn, When shone the sun of glory's earliest ray Upon thy country : 'mid the twilight grey Of dim obscurity, see streaks of light Portend the brightness of the coming day, When burst that sun's full splendours on the sight — Though clouded oft awhile, yet beautiful and bright ! XVI. A people, then and there, mayest thou behold, Indomitable as the rugged soil O'er which they loved to roam — proud, free, and bold, As their own mountains. They alone could foil The arms of Rome, and rob them of their spoil ; Pierce the huge serpent that had twined around The vanquished nations — bidding it uncod, And draw that head back, gored with many a wound, In whose gemmed lustre they no fascination found.

XVII. Free roaming 'mid their own wild hills and skies, Dear and familiar ever to their sight ; Amid these scenes sublime, where, to their eyes, In every woody glen and towering height, Nature put forth her most stupendous might To awe yet charm the soul, and to adorn These favoured regions ; they did take delight To own themselves her children, and to scorn All that appeared of Art and dull Restriction born.

CANTO I. ANCIENT CALEDONIANS.

XVIII. And marvel not that to their simple heart Uncultured Nature doubly was endeared ; And that the bright insignia of Art Thus deeply odious in their sight appeared, And he who bore them as a foe was feared, When proudly they were blazoned on the shield Of those who dark Invasion's standard reared Against them — when to Art's approach to yield, Seemed base as 'twere to quit some long contested field. xix. Nor strange that Nature's voice to them was sweet — That her their mother they so loved to call : Accordant with her voice their bosoms beat ; And the rude crag, the torrent's roaring fall, The hurrying clouds, the tempest's fierceness — all Spoke in a tone the sweetest to their soul. And what might minds of gentler cast appal, With pleasing and congenial influence stole On minds that joyed in all that seemed to spurn control. xx.

Yet dear and sacred ever in their sight The ties that Nature's hand had bound appeared ; And him, the warrior chief who to the height Of power and dignity by her was reared, They loved, obeyed, and cheerfully revered : He was the father of his tribe, and strong The bonds by which to all he was endeared. Their judge and leader — their defence from wrong — His deeds filled every mind — his praises every song. MORVEN.

CANTO I. XXI.

To Nature's voice with reverential awe They listened ; and, from every sight and sound, Imagination taught their souls to draw Deep meanings ; and, when all was still around, If aught disturbed the solemn hush profound, The heart that could all mortal terrors brave Would flutter ; and in these their fancy found — Accordant with the stamp that feeling gave — ■ Revealings from above, or voices from the grave. XXII. While thus upon my soul the thoughts arise That call to mind the deeds of other days, What scene does Fancy picture to mine eyes ? 'Tis " woody Morven," where full oft the lays Of ancient bards arose, to tell the praise Of conquering chiefs, or chiefs who nobly fell. My soul by Lora's murmuring water strays, Whose woodland music oft did Ossian swell, And by the cairns that mark where slumbering heroes dwell. , XXIII.

And see ! as slow departs the summer day, The clouds around in martial order close, Forming themselves in dread and dark array, Like the advance and charge of meeting foes ; And now, as each in the red radiance glows Of the departing sun, they seem as dyed In blood that from a thousand bosoms flows ; And there some ancient bard might have descried The ghosts of warriors slain, still fired with martial pride.

CANTO I. MYTHOLOGY OF OSSIAN.

XXIV. Amid the storm, upon their cloudy cars, Still rush they through the heavens, as once they rushed, Urged by revenge and wrath, to earthly wars. And now see yonder host by victory flushed ! And see their foes beneath their onset crushed, Pursued by fiery darts of forked light ! Victorious Fingal stops the rout, and hushed Is now the tumult and the noise of fight ; And slow the foe retires, though still in timid flight. xxv. See the triumphant host amid the skies, With joyful shouts, around their leader throng ! And, hark ! I hear a gentle voice arise, Borne by the soft and dying gale along. Methinks it is the voice of Ossian's song, Who sweeps his harp amid the " feast of shells : Now soft it rises, and now, boldly strong, As if in triumph and in joy it swells ; And still on Fingal's might and Oscar's praise it dwells.

XXVI. But now no longer glows the fading west ; The clouds amid the darkness disappear ; The wearied hosts of Heaven have sunk to rest. To-morrow they exchange the brand and spear, Aud battle's wild delights, for sylvan cheer ; And, mounted on the clouds, their flying steeds, Through heaven's wide fields, pursue the shadowy deer, Sporting as once they did on earthly meads ; For still in heaven they love their former joys aud deeds.

CANTO I. ORIGIN OF SUPERSTITIONS.

xxvn. 'Twas thus, when Scotia lay beneath the shade Of ignorance— ere pure Religion's light, From blest Iona shining, yet displayed The purity of that celestial height, Where holy spirits dwell in glory bright, Imagination pictured to the eye.O) In viewless air or in the things of sight, Spirits into whose state love bade men pry, — Which something in themselves declared could never die. XXVIII. What is that something ? 'tis the voice of Heaven, Which the immortal spirit hears within ; Which says, these powers, these feelings were not given, In this abode of misery and sin To live alone ; that here we but begiu An endless being ; that there is a state Where all the good a recompence shall win ; Where Heaven's just wrath the wicked shall await, — Though dimly can blind man foresee his future fate.

XXIX. And, when the soul its earthly house forsakes, In minds untaught of Heaven the thought will rise That still of mortal passions it partakes, And still is bound to earth by human ties ; And, leaving off its mansion in the skies, Will seek some spot of earth that once was dear ; Or, 'neath the shade of midnight, to the eyes Of its still loved descendants will appear, To warn them when some hour of gloom is drawing near,

CANTO I.

Introduction

OF CHRISTIANITY.

XXX. Nor when arose — these regions to illume — The Sun of Righteousness, did even his ray Dispel at once these phantoms of the gloom, Or chase dark superstition's clouds away ; Yet did it raise them higher, and display, In the bright tints which even on them it cast, That splendour which, when purer shone the day — When from the sky these darkening clouds had passed — Shed such a glorious light o'er heaven and earth at last. XXXI. No more o'er Scotia's rugged hills and isles Religion's beams are from Iona shed ; And moulder now her old and hoary piles O'er the low graves, where lie the mighty dead, And holy men, who wont these scenes to tread ; Yet is it sweet to walk where they have trod ; Sweet is it, even in fancy, to be led O'er scenes that have been Sanctity's abode, From whence o'er all the land such priceless blessings flowed.

XXXII. And, Oh ! if fancy such deep joy can give, Shrined in the heart such scenes may well remain. When we have gazed on them. Then let me live Those hours of holy musing o'er again, When, borne rejoicing o'er the Western main, Far on the deep the sacred isle I viewed — When rose upon my sight its ancient fane — When on its hallowed shore entranced I stood, And with its spirit felt my inmost soul imbued.

CANTO I.

24 ARRIVAL OF COLUMBA. XXXIII. It was on such a morn as that whereon(« A light of influence purer far than aught Yon glorious sun imparts, arose aud shone — Even that blest morn which o'er these waters brought, From Erin's kindred shore, a frail bark, fraught With a devoted band of heralds, led By one* whom God by His own Word had taught, And by His Spirit fired with zeal to spread The tidings of great joy through Him for man who bled. xxxiv. Calm rose that morning o'er these Western Isles, Shedding on all around a tranquil ray. Old Ocean brightened into peaceful smiles, As rolled the darkness from his face away ; And glad he hailed that blest, auspicious day. More joyful then, methinks, than e'er before, Through Staffa's pillared aisles his matin lay — Wont ever there its orisons to pour — Would swell in solemn strains, his Maker to adore. xxxv.

For o'er the Western wave, that hallowed morn, A bright and glorious star, of ray divine, Like that which led to where the Christ was born, Arose — with cheering beams ordained to shine, And be to these rude isles a sacred sign, Pointing to where, with gifts of purer worth Than brought the Magi from the Eastern mine, They might repair to Him whose wondrous birth Great glory brought to Heaven, and spake good-will to earth. * Columba.

CANTO I. THE CULDEES.

XXXVI. Wide o'er these rugged realms its hallowed ray Was poured diffusive ; nor on these alone : O'er Southern regions, stretching far away, With blessed power its heavenly lustre shone ; And they who sat in darkness joyed to own The healing influence of its tranquil light : And where a Saviour's name was not unknown, Even there it shone with beams more purely bright Than 'mid the obscuring clouds till then had reached their sight. XXXVII. In peaceful union here the brethren dwelt, Studious of God's own Word — a holy band, Eager to spread the heavenly peace they felt In their own tranquil breasts o'er all the land ; To bid the sacred tree of life expand O'er nations perishing around, and give Its blessed fruits abundant to their hand, That, eating of these fruits, their souls might live, And from its shadowing leaves a healing balm receive.

XXXVIII. Ah ! not in monkish solitude retired Dwelt they, remote from men, in selfish ease ; But, with deep ardour and devotion fired, They spread abroad the glorious truth which frees From strong delusions, deadening, while they please, The heart led captive in the fetters wrought By Superstition's hand, and formed to seize The prostrate powers of feeling and of thought, In the seductive snares of sense and passion caught.

CANTO I. THE CULDEES.

XXXIX. Such glorious aim o'er all their feelings shed A hallowing power, which purified from earth, And sense, and self ; and with strong impulse led The champions of the Cross undaunted forth To deadly warfare with the monstrous birth Of the fell Powers of Darkness, that had reigned With gloomiest sway o'er all the subject North. Nor less resolved the struggle they maintained 'Gainst the usurping power which held the South enchained.* XL. They called none Master upon earth, nor bowed The knee to the great Harlot who sits throned® On the seven hills, and blasphemous words and proud Gives forth. One Lord and Lawgiver they owned — One Intercessor — Him who bled, and groaned, And died to save them — Him, the great High Priest, Who bore their griefs, and for their sins atoned. By Him from bonds of guilty fear released, They bore not on their brow the image of the Beast.

XLI. And when the pensive pilgrim wanders here, And gazes on these ruins, frail and low, While softly falls upon his musing ear The solemn souud of Ocean's ceaseless flow : Then holy feeling in his soul will glow, More pure and sacred — more sublime and deep — Than e'er deluded votary may know 'Neath proud cathedral domes, where music's sweep And perfumed incense-clouds his sated senses steep. * The Pope. See Note (2.)

CANTO I. IONA.

XLII. Yes ! many a mighty fane hath since been reared, And many a stately structure yet may rise, Yet more than all that spot shall be revered Where old Iona's ruins meet the eyes ; Where, mingled with the dust of ages, lies The mortal frame of him whose blessed feet First brought the glorious message from the skies To Scotia's sons, and made this Isle the seat Where pure Religion dwelt, and Learning found retreat. XLIII. And, Oh ! with calmly musing eyes to trace Each holy relic, each memorial hoar, That still adorns the venerable place, And brings to mind all that it was of yore ! To stand upon the consecrated shore, Oft trod by those who the glad tidings brought To these once darkened regions ; to adore, Amid these sacred piles, in silent thought, Him by whose Spirit led this lonely Isle they sought !

XLIV. Oh ! then what sweet and grateful thoughts arise ! Yet how subdued the swelling thoughts of Pride ; Standing where low the chief — the monarch lies ! How small a space suffices to divide Hereditary foes — laid side by side : Their deeds forgot — almost their names unknown — All record of their lives to fame denied, Save the rude sculpture of the hoary stone, By ruthless storms defaced, and by wild weeds o'ergrown !

CANTO I

- STAFFA. XLV. With slow, reluctant step I leave thy shore, 0 blest Iona ! and, while o'er the main The vessel bears me, I sit gazing o'er The dashing waves, still eager to retain The distant prospect of thy crumbling fane, Till but a dim speck on the deep appears : But thou art hidden from my sight in vain ; Oft shall my musing soul, in after years, Dwell where thy ancient pile its hoary ruin rears. XLVI. But Staffa rises o'er the heaving tide/4) And thither now my eager eyes are cast. With sable cormorants its pillared side Is peopled ; and, high-soaring on the blast, The curlews shriek around. — And now, at last, We reach the Cave whose hundred columns make A gorgeous temple, solemn, high, and vast ; Where Ocean's choirs the eternal song awake, Calling our souls a part in that deep strain to take.