Inch-Cailliach, Loch Lomond.
[The island burial-place of Clan-Alpine, resembling, from
Rossdhu, a reclining body with folded arms.]
                     
                     Rossdhu, a reclining body with folded arms.]

No more Clan-Alpine’s pibroch wakes1
                        
                        Loch Lomond’s hills and waters blue ;2
                        
                        ‘ Hail to the Chief’ no longer breaks3
                        
                        The quiet sleep of Roderick Dhu :4
                        
                        Enwrapped in peace the islands gleam5
                        
                        Like emerald gems in sapphire set,6
                        
                        And, far away, as in a dream,7
                        
                        Float purple fields where heroes met.8
                        Inch-Cailliach—island of the blest !9
                        
                        Columba’s daughter, passing fair,10
                        
                        With folded arms upon her breast,11
                        
                        Rests soft in sunset radiance there ;12
                        
                        A vision sweet of fond Elaine,13
                        
                        And floating barge of Camelot,14
                        
                        Upon her brow no trace of pain,15
                        
                        And on her heart  ‘ Forget me not.’16
                        Forget thee, saintly guardian ? Nay,17
                        
                        From distant lands across the sea18
                        
                        To this lone isle I fondly stray19
                        
                        With song and garland fresh for thee ;20
                        
                        I trace the old inscriptions dear,21
                        
                        Fast fading now from mortal ken,22
                        
                        And through the silvered lichens peer23
                        
                        To read MacAlpine’s name again.24
                        My mother’s name, a sacred link25
                        
                        Which binds me to the storied past ;26
                        
                        A rainbow bridge from brink to brink,27
                        
                        Which spans with light the centuries vast.28
                        
                        Two hundred years !  Clan-Alpine’s pine29
                        
                        Has struck its roots in other lands ;30
                        
                        My pulses thrill to trace the sign31
                        
                        And touch the cross with reverent hands.32
                        All ruin here !— the shrine is dust,33
                        
                        The chapel wall a shapeless mound ;34
                        
                        But nature guards with loving trust,35
                        
                        And ivy twines her tendrils round36
                        
                        The humble slab, more fitting far37
                        
                        Than gilded dome for Scotia’s line ;38
                        
                        The open sky and northern star39
                        
                        Become the chieftains of the pine.40
                        The light streams out from fair Rossdhu41
                        
                        Across the golden-tinted wave ;42
                        
                        That crumbling keep, that ancient yew,43
                        
                        Still mark a worthy foeman’s grave ;44
                        
                        But warm the hearts that now await45
                        
                        Our coming at the open door,46
                        
                        With love and friendship at the gate,47
                        
                        And beacon-lights along the shore.48
                        Dear Scotia !  evermore more dear49
                        
                        To loyal sons in every land ;50
                        
                        Strong in a race that knew not fear,51
                        
                        And for man’s freedom dared to stand :52
                        
                        Ay, dearer for thy songs that float53
                        
                        Like thistle-down o’er land and sea,54
                        
                        And strike the universal note55
                        
                        Of love, and faith, and liberty.56