They answer me with tearful voice—
“Alas! is not MacEachainn dead?”
I see the gathering of the poor—
Now poor indeed since thou art dead,
And closed for aye the open door
Where Love consoled and Bounty fed!
And strangers now are praised to me
As lib’ral—I knew only one—
But ah! the wandering stars we see
After the setting of the sun!