Blair Collection > Selections from the Gaelic bards

OLD MEMORIES. 267
All lonely, but replete with thought,
And linked to things long passed away ;
By my rapt fancy thither brought
From storied page or rousing lay.
This, this is that same solitude
Where stooped the hern her solemn wing
To stand, like some old ghost, and brood,
By moory loch and oozy spring.
There wailed the plover's plaintive cry —
There wild ducks bent the heather dun,
That fringed those lines of melody
Where secret streams still sing and run.
This, this is that same solitude
Through which the soft sea-breathings sighed,
Like a sad soul in search of good
From which, perforce, it wandered wide.
And still the billows' far heard moan
Hangs o'er it like an awful doom,
Spoke in some antique Titan tone,
Long shrouded in primeval gloom!
The hills there silent stand for aye —
The clouds yet wander solemnly,
Through evening's wierd and deep'ning grey,
Or dreamlike on its bosom lie.
Oh! this is the old place I loved,
When haunted by the gloaming mild,
And by the spirit-wind that moved,
Almost to life, yon desert wild.
Then how J peopled the dim scene
With things in climes remote and near,
And other ages that have been —
Things that yet float like shadows here!