Fronting his foes, he stood with fearless eye,
His body to the pillar-stone he bound,
Nor sitting nor down-lying would he die …
He would die standing … so they gathered round
In silent wonder on the blood-drench'd ground,
And watch'd the hero who with Death could strive;
But no man durst approach … He seem'd to be alive …
LOST SONGS.
Harp of my fathers—on the mouldering wall
Of days forgotten—like a far-off wind
Hushing the fir-wood at soft even-fall,
Thy low-heard whispers to my heart recall
The wistful songs, to Silence Old consigned,
That Ossian sang when he was frail and blind.
Thy fitful notes from the melodious trees,
I fain would echo in my feeble rhyme—
The inner music quivering on the breeze
I hear; and throbbing from the beating seas,
On ancient shores, the wearied pulse of Time
That mingles with thy melodies sublime.
OTHER POEMS.
THE DREAM.
'Twas when I woke I knew it was a dream,
Measured by moments, that to me did seem,
A life-long spell of joy and peace to be—
Will that last dream that comes ere death descends,
From which I shall not wake to know it ends,
Thus seem to live on through Eternity?
FREE WILL.
Say not the will of man is free
Within the limits of his soul—
Who from his heritage can flee?
Who can his destiny control?