By the last trumpet’s awful sound.
The following are sublime:—
Tha’m bogha frois muo’n cuairt d’a cheann;
Mar thuil nan gleann tha fuaim a ghuth,
Mar dhealanaich tha sealla ’shul,
A sputadh as na neulaibh tiugh.
Not a single expression but what a herd lad, who was never at school, could use, and yet how sublime. Put it into the hands of the mistress of arts, and see how it will appear.
The rainbow bright surrounds his head,
Like flood of glens his voice divine,