And gorgeous was it o'er the Western Isles To gaze upon the sunset mid those piles
Of mountainous clouds. They reared their sunny copes
Like heavenly alps, with cities on their slopes,
Built amid glaciers-bristling fierce with towers,
Turrets, and battlements of warlike powers-
Jagged with priestly pinnacles and spires –
And crowned with domes, that glittered in the fires.
Of the slant sun, like smithied silver bright;
The capitals of Cloudland. When the light
Grew paler, and the Eastern dark came down,
And o'er the mystery drew his mantle brown,
'T was lovely still to watch the shore and sea
Robed in the garment of obscurity;
To see the head-lands looming through the mist,
As if dissevered from the earth, they wist
Not altogether of which element
They were a part, indissolubly blent.
The lights of Oban glimmer'd faint and far,
And over Cruachan shone out one star
Attendant on the moon: who, issuing forth
Yellow and full, displayed to all the north
Her matron face, and o'er each eastern hill
Poured sleepy lustre. Beautifully still
Lay Lochlin in her beams Lochlin whose breast
Wafted so oft the chieftains of the west
To bloody warfare; Lochlin that of yore
The galleys of the Gael to battle bore
Against the men of haughty Innisfail ;
Lochlin of storms, where Fingal spread his sail
To meet Cuchullin; Lochlin of the spears;
Blue Lochlin of the songs of other
A mournful sea it was, a mournful shore ;
But yet so lovely, vestured in the hoar
Antiquity of many memories,
That they regretted when their watchful eyes
Described Fortwilliam and their journey's end,
And great Ben Nevis, corried, strath'd, and glenn'd,
Rising before them. Soon the sorrow pass'd,
For they had reached a resting place at last,
Where for a season they might feed Delight
On Beauty, and in worldly Care's despite
Give themselves to Nature
up
not in part,
But with all energy of mind and heart-
That ere returning to the world again
That little month might make them better men.
And what they talked of, what they dreamed or sung,
What tales they told, or beads of fancy strung,
What aspirations of a better time,
They formed for men, behold in rhythm and rhyme.
WALKING on the Dead Sea shore,
Meditating evermore,
Underneath the burning ray
Of intolerable day,
I beheld a fearful thing—
Bloody deed as e'er was done, Wrought, unblushing, unrelenting, In the presence of the sun.
Fair, and young, and bright was he,
Who that morning walked with me,
By the margin of the sea;
Calm, and eloquent, and wise,
Radiant in immortal youth;
Knowledge sparkled from his eyes,
From his forehead living truth.
He was a youth indeed divine,
A master and a friend of mine,
For whose dear sake I would have given
All on the mortal side of heaven.
We talked together and paced along;
We did no mortal creature wrong;
And sometimes sitting on the sands,
Or on the jutting rocks below,
He looked at me, and clasped my hands,
And told me things I ought to know
Things of heaven and things of earth,
Things of wisdom and of mirth;
The wisdom cheerful, the mirth most wise,
And both brimful of mysteries.
There came a woman by the way,
A stately woman, proud and strong; Her robe of purple velvet shone, Like a starry night, with precious stone, And trailed the sands as she swept along. She wore a dagger at her side,
Jewel-hilted, bright, and keen:
You might have told, by her crown of gold,
This gorgeous woman was a queen.
But more by her eyes, that flashed the fire
Of one accustomed to control;
To rule in awe, and give the law
That binds the body and the soul.
And, in her train, there followed her
A well-armed troop of stalwart men,
So bloody and bare, I do not care
Ever to see their like again.
My friend arose and looked at her;
Calm and beautiful he stood,
With such magnificence of eye,
As God but gives unto the good.
She scowled at him; each quivering limb
In all her body spoke her wrath ;
And her fearful tongue loud curses flung
At the mild presence in her path:
'Monster of evil! fiend of guile !
What brings thee here to blast my sight?
But since thou darest in the day,
To meet and brave me in the way,
We'll try thy power
'Lady,' said he, and mildly spoke, While heavenly beauty lit his face, 'My God hath made me what I am, And given me an abiding place; And if my presence please thee not,
The world is wide-thou need'st not come,
To slay me in each quiet spot,
Where I have sanctified a home.
Thou'st taken from me wide domains,
And followed me with hate and scorn;
Enjoy thine own-let me alone
I wait in patience for the morn.'
A frenzy flushed her burning brow,
A rage too mighty to contain;
Her nostrils widened, and seemed to smoke;
She grasped her neck as she would choke,
And then, like one who suffered pain,
Her trembling lips she did compress;
Her cheeks grew cold and colorless.
But soon the madness of her blood
Boiled in her bosom where she stood;
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