V.
Icolmkill.
“ The hoary druid saw thee rise,
And planting there his guardian spell,
Sung forth the dreadful pomp to swell
Of human sacrifice.”
Rogers.
How beautiful, beneath the morning sky,1
The level sea outstretches like a lake,2
Serene, when not a zephyr is awake3
To curl the gilded pendant gliding by :—4
Within a bowshot druid Icolmkill5
Presents its time-worn ruins, hoar and grey,6
A monument of Eld remaining still,7
Lonely, when all its brethren are away.8
Dumb things may be our teachers ; is it strange9
That aught of death is perishing! Come forth,10
Like rainbows show diversity of change11
And fade away—Aurora of the north !12
Where altars rose, and choral virgins sung,13
And victims bled, the sea-bird rears her young !14