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LORD OF THE ISLES.
CANTO THÍÝ D.
Hast thou not mark'd, when o'er thy startled head
Sudden and deep the thunder-peal has rolla, How, when its echoes fell, a silence dead
Sunk on the wood, the meadow, and the wold ? The rye-grass shakes not on the sod-built fold,
The rustling aspen's leaves are mute and still, The wall-flower waves not on the ruin'd Hold,
Till, murmuring distant first, then near and shrill, The savage whirlwind wakes, and sweeps the groaning hill!
Artornish ! such a silence sunk
Upon thy halls, when that
Monk His prophet-speech had spoke; And his obedient brethren's sail
Was stretch'd to meet the southern gale
Before a whisper woke. Then murmuring sounds of doubt and fear, Close pour'd in many an anxious ear,
The solemn stillness broke;
And still they gazed with eager guess,
What Lorn, by his impatient cheer,
Starting at length with frowning look,
And sternly flung apart ;
66 And deem'st thou me so mean of mood,
From my dear Kinsman's heart ?
Be it even so-believe, ere long,
To highest tower the castle round,
A Baron's lands !". His frantic mood
Was scarcely by the news withstood,
(For, glad of each pretext for spoil, A pirate sworn was Cormac Doil.) But others, lingering, spoke apart, “ The Maid has given her maiden heart
To Ronald of the Isles,
And, fearful lest her brother's word
She seeks Iona's piles,
The Abbot reconciles.".
As, impotent of ire, the hall
Courteous, but stern, a bold request