In bright uncertainty they lie, Like future joys to Fancy's eye. The water lily to the light Her chalice rear'd of silver bright; The doe awoke, and to the lawn, Begemmed with dew-drops, led her fawn; The grey mist left the mountain side, The torrent shewed its glistening pride; Invisible in flecked sky, The lark sent down her revelry; The black-bird and the speckled thrush Good-morrow gave from brake and bush; In answer cooed the cushet dove, Her notes of peace, and rest, and love. III. No thought of peace, no thought of rest, Assuaged the storm in Roderick's breast. With sheathed broad-sword in his hand, Abrupt he paced the islet strand, And eyed the rising sun, and laid His hand on his impatient blade. Beneath a rock, his vassals' care Was prompt the ritual to prepare, With deep and deathful meaning fraught ; For such Antiquity had taught Was preface meet, ere yet abroad The Cross of Fire should take its road. The shrinking band stood oft aghast At the impatient glance he cast ;- She spread her dark sails on the wind, Silenced the warblers of the brake. IV. A heap of withered boughs was piled, Of juniper and rowan wild, Mingled with shivers from the oak, Rent by the lightning's recent stroke. Brian, the Hermit, by it stood, Bare-footed, in his frock and hood. His grisled beard and matted hair His naked arms and legs, seamed o'er, That Monk, of savage form and face, The impending danger of his race Had drawn from deepest solitude, Far in Benharrow's bosom rude. Not his the mien of Christian priest, But Druid's, from the grave released, Whose hardened heart and eye might brook On human sacrifice to look ; And much, 'twas said, of heathen lore Mixed in the charms he muttered o'er. The hallowed creed gave only worse And deadlier emphasis of curse; No peasant sought that Hermit's prayer, His cave the pilgrim shunned with care, The eager huntsman knew his bound, And in mid chase called off his hound; Or if, in lonely glen or strath, The desert-dweller met his path, He prayed, and signed the cross between, While terror took devotion's mien. V. Of Brian's birth strange tales were told. Where scattered lay the bones of men, And bleached by drifting wind and rain. Beneath the broad and ample bone, That bucklered heart to fear unknown, A feeble and a timorous guest, The field-fare framed her lowly nest; There the slow blind-worm left his slime All night, in this sad glen, the maid Yet ne'er again to braid her hair Gone was her maiden glee and sport, Nor sought she, from that fatal night, Or holy church or blessed rite, |