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Strange is the tale—but all too long
Yet who may pass them by,
The tribute of a sigh!
O’er the broad ocean driven,
The steersman's hand hath given. And Ronin's mountains dark have sent
Their hunters to the shore, And each his ashen bow unbent,
And gave his pastime o’er, And at the Island Lord's command, For hunting spear took warrior's brand. On-Scooreigg next a warning light Summon'd her warriors to the fight;
A numerous race, ere stern Macleod
Merrily, merrily, goes the bark
On a breeze from the northward free, So shoots through the morning sky the lark,
Or the swan through the summer sea.
The shores of Mull on the eastward lay,,
That guard famed Staffa round.
The cormorant had found, And the shy seal had quiet home, . And welter'd in that wond'rous dome, Where, as to shame the temples deck'd By skill of earthly architect, Nature herself, it seem', would raise A Minster to her Maker's praise ! Not for a meaner use ascend Her columns, or her arches bend; Nor of a theme less solemn tells That mighty surge that ebbs and swells, And still, between each awful pause, From the high vault an answer draws,
In varied tone prolong'd and high,
That Nature's voice might seem to say,
Thy humble powers that stately shrine
Merrily, merrily, goes the bark,
Before the gale she bounds ;
Or the deer before the hounds.
And the Chief of the sandy Coll; They paused not at Columba's isle, Though pead the bells from the holy pile .
With long and measured toll ;
No time for matin or for mass,
Away in the billows' roll.
Lord Ronald's call obey,
And lonely Colonsay; -Scenes sung by him who sings no more ! His bright and brief career is o'er,
And mute his tuneful strains ; Quench'd is his lamp of varied lore, That loved the light of song to pour; A distant and a deadly shore
Has LEYDEN's cold remains !