Was quenched in dust. ’Mid Uladh’s hills5
A clearer ray the Herdsman-Slave
Allured, as by the limpid rills
He mused above the Pagan’s grave,
Or, standing on the mountain-scaur,
Beheld the Angel of his Dream10
Through sunlit flying storms afar
Fade into heaven, a phantom gleam.
His holier fire with sleepless hand,
By shadowed lake, in sheltering woods,