No sunbeam, on the pathway of their race?
Though, haply, in the unrecorded days
Of kings and chiefs who pass’d without their praise,
Thou mightst have rear’d the valiant and the free,
In history’s page there is no tale of thee.
Yet hast thou thy memorials. On the wild,
Still rise the cairns, of yore all rudely piled,[151]
But hallow’d by that instinct which reveres
Things fraught with characters of elder years.
And such are these. Long centuries are flown,