| |
(From The Lord of the Isles)
MERRILY, merrily bounds the bark, | |
| She bounds before the gale, | |
| The mountain breeze from Ben-nadarch | |
| Is joyous in her sail! | |
| With fluttering sound like laughter hoarse, | 5 |
| The cords and canvas strain, | |
| The waves, divided by her force, | |
| In rippling eddies chase her course, | |
| As if they laughed again. | |
| Not down the breeze more blithely flew, | 10 |
| Skimming the wave, the light sea-mew, | |
| Than the gay galley bore | |
| Her course upon that favoring wind, | |
| And Coolin’s crest has sunk behind, | |
| And Slapin’s caverned shore. | 15 |
| ’T was then that warlike signals wake | |
| Dunscaith’s dark towers and Eisord’s lake, | |
| And soon, from Cavilgarrigh’s head | |
| Thick wreaths of eddying smoke were spread; | |
| A summons these of war and wrath | 20 |
| To the brave clans of Sleat and Strath, | |
| And, ready at the sight, | |
| Each warrior to his weapon sprung, | |
| And targe upon his shoulder flung, | |
| Impatient for the fight. | 25 |
| Mac-Kinnon’s chief, in warfare gray, | |
| Had charge to muster their array, | |
| And guide their barks to Brodick Bay. * * * * * | |
| Merrily, merrily goes the bark, | |
| On a breeze from the northward free, | 30 |
| So shoots through the morning sky the lark, | |
| Or the swan through the summer sea. | |
| The shores of Mull on the eastward lay, | |
| And Ulva dark, and Colonsay, | |
| And all the group of islets gay | 35 |
| That guard famed Staffa round. | |
| Then all unknown its columns rose, | |
| Where dark and undisturbed repose | |
| The cormorant had found, | |
| And the shy seal had quiet home, | 40 |
| And weltered in that wondrous dome | |
| Where, as to shame the temples decked | |
| By skill of earthly architect, | |
| Nature herself, it seemed, would raise | |
| A Minster to her Maker’s praise! | 45 |
| 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, | 50 |
| From the high vault an answer draws, | |
| In varied tone prolonged and high, | |
| That mocks the organ’s melody. | |
| Nor doth its entrance front in vain | |
| To old Iona’s holy fane, | 55 |
| That Nature’s voice might seem to say, | |
| “Well hast thou done, frail child of clay! | |
| Thy humble powers that stately shrine | |
| Tasked high and hard,—but witness mine!” | |
| |
| Merrily, merrily goes the bark,— | 60 |
| Before the gale she bounds; | |
| So darts the dolphin from the shark, | |
| Or the deer before the hounds. | |
| They left Loch-Tua on their lee, | |
| And they wakened the men of the wild Tiree, | 65 |
| And the chief of the sandy Coll; | |
| They paused not at Columba’s isle, | |
| Though pealed the bells from the holy pile | |
| With long and measured toll; | |
| No time for matin or for mass, | 70 |
| And the sounds of the holy summons pass | |
| Away in the billows’ roll. | |
| Lochbuie’s fierce and warlike Lord | |
| Their signal saw, and grasped his sword, | |
| And verdant Ilay called her host, | 75 |
| And the clans of Jura’s rugged coast | |
| Lord Ronald’s call obey, | |
| And Scarba’s isle, whose tortured shore | |
| Still rings to Corrievreken’s roar, | |
| And lonely Colonsay;— | 80 |
| Scenes sung by him who sings no more! | |
| His bright and brief career is o’er, | |
| And mute his tuneful strains; | |
| Quenched is his lamp of varied lore, | |
| That loved the light of song to pour; | 85 |
| A distant and a deadly shore | |
| Has Leyden’s cold remains! | |
| |
