Books and other items printed in Gaelic from 1871 to 1900 > Gaelic bards, and original poems

DUGALD BUCHANAK.
95
His dark wings overspreading,
And the solar rays shading,
From their nest he calls forth
His chill ravaging brood;
Snow pure white, and flying,
Or in drifts and heaps lying,
And hailstones like shot,
And the north’s stormy mood.
Once he breathes in his power,
Then its soul leaves the flower;
His lips clip like scissors
The garden’s pride bare;
Woods and groves he assails them—
Of their gay garb unveils them,
And the streamlets he chokes
While his dark flags they wear.
His breast’s frozen whistle
Calls the wild winds to bristle—
Tha barm-swollen ocean
That rolls rough and high :
And he curdles the sleet-shower
The hill-tops that flits o’er,
And clean scours the stars,
Till they dazzle the eye.
FROM THE DAY OF JUDGMENT.
Oh ! ye who did the world so prize,
Come now and see its doleful case;
When, like a man that struggling dies,
It sinks in death’s most fell embrace.
Its cold, clear veins that knew no rest,
But coursed the glen with playful pride,