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His priests received the exhausted Monk,
As breathless in their arms he sunk.
Punctual his orders to obey,
END OF CANTO SECOND.
LORD OF THE ISLES.
Hast thou not mark'd, when o'er thy startled head
Sudden and deep the thunder-peal has rollid, 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 !