Images still therein remain
And death-memorials carv'd with pain;
Of good hewn stone from top to base,
It shows to Time a dauntless face.

A man this day the pulpit fill'd,
Whose sermon brain and bosom thrill'd,
And all the listening crowd I heard
Praising the mouth which it proferr'd:
Since death has seiz'd on Columb Cill,
And Mull may not possess him still,
There's joy throughout its heathery lands,
In Columb's place that Dougal stands.




THE DYING BARD.


From the Gaelic.

O for to hear the hunter's tread
With his spear and his dogs the hills among;
In my aged cheek youth flushes red
When the noise of the chase arises strong.

Awakes in my bones the marrow whene'er
I hark to the distant shout and bay;
When peals in my ear; "We've kill'd the deer"--