LINES ON THE GRAVE OF A SUICIDE. By strangers left upon a lonely shore, Unknown, unhonour'd, was the friendless dead; For child to weep, or widow to deplore, Nor will the lantern'd fisherman at eve Launch on that water by the witches' tower, Where hellebore and hemlock seem to weave Round its dark vaults a melancholy bower For spirits of the dead at night's enchanted hour. They dread to meet thee, poor unfortunate! That smote its kindred heart, might yet be prone To deeds of mercy. Who may understand REULLURA.* STAR of the morn and eve, Reullura shone like thee, And well for her might Aodh grieve, Peace to their shades! the pure Culdees By foot of Saxon monk was trod, In Iona preach'd the word with power, And Reullura, beauty's star, Was the partner of his bower. But, Aodh, the roof lies low, And the thistle-down waves bleaching, And the bat flits to and fro Where the Gaël once heard thy preaching; And fallen is each column'd aisle Where the chiefs and the people knelt. 'Twas near that temple's goodly pile That honoured of men they dwelt. * Reullura, in Gaëlic, signifies "beautiful star." For Aodh was wise in the sacred law, Alas, with what visions of awe Her soul in that hour was gifted— When pale in the temple and faint, By the statue of an aged Saint! Fame said it once had graced A Christian temple, which the Picts The Pictish men, by St. Columb taught, And cried, "It is, he shall come, Even he, in this very place, To avenge my martyrdom. For, woe to the Gaël people! Ulvfagre is on the main, And Iona shall look from tower and steeple On the coming ships of the Dane; And, dames and daughters, shall all your locks With the spoiler's grasp entwine? No! some shall have shelter in caves and rocks, And the deep sea shall be mine. Baffled by me shall the Dane return And here shall his torch in the temple burn, Until that holy man shall plough The waves from Innisfail. His sail is on the deep e'en now, "Ah! know'st thou not, my bride," The holy Aodh said, "That the Saint whose form we stand beside Has for ages slept with the dead?" "He liveth, he liveth," she said again, "For the span of his life tenfold extends Beyond the wonted years of men. He sits by the graves of well-loved friends When the sun on the cross look'd dim, Yet preaching from clime to clime, When the wrath of the heathen rages, Yet, blest be the name of the Lord! His martyrs shall go into bliss for ever. Lochlin*, appall'd, shall put up her steel, And thou shalt embark on the bounding keel; Safe shalt thou pass through her hundred ships, With the Saint and a remnant of the Gaël, And the Lord will instruct thy lips To preach in Innisfail†.” The sun, now about to set, And no gathering cry rose yet O'er the isles of Albyn's sea, And the phantom of many a Danish ship, And the shield of alarm was dumb, Nor did their warning till midnight come, When watch-fires burst from across the main, From Rona, and Uist, and Skye, To tell that the ships of the Dane And the red-hair'd slayers were nigh. Our islemen arose from slumbers, And buckled on their arms; |