Upsprings the flower in every dainty type

Of measured beauty rare, and undulant woods
With leafy large embroidery outspread,
Work of that sleepless surge of shaping soul
That makes the world a world, and fills the eye
With wonder and delight.--But I will cease,
Lest my fond babblement disturb the calm
And beauty of this place; and evermore,

When Sabbath bells in dingy city toll,

Through smoke, and dusty tramp, and rattling wheels,
And multitudinous roar of crowded life,

I will bethink me of thy pool serene,
Loch Duich, with fair fringe of friendly green,
And gleaming cots, and the low plash far-heard
Of peaceful Sabbath oars, and the quaint grace
Of tufted crag, and vagrant-climbing birch,
And lone Glenshiel, with strong rock-scooping flood
Fenced by green cones, and granite peaks sublime.

TAIN:

THE CHAPEL OF SAINT DUTHACH.

I SATE in the old church yard

Beside the chapel grey,

Where holy Duthach was born and bred,

On a knoll of the sandy bay.

I sate on the old grey stones

Where the homes of the dead men be,

And a grey mist curtained the rayless sky,
And a grey mist girdled the sea.

I sate, and I looked on the old grey

That looks on the old grey sea,

town

And thoughts and shapes of the old grey time Came down, like a dream, on me.

And I saw the shrine of the holy man,
And candles burning bright

Around the chest where his body lay,

By day, and eke by night.

And crowds of low-bent worshippers

Around the sacred rail,

Hard, weathered men, and blooming youths, And maids with decent veil,

And knights of iron grasp I saw,

With stout achievement crowned,

Bowing their heads, like drooping flowers,
Upon the hallowed ground:

And mitred priests, and shaven monks

Belted with hempen rope,

And legates, and proud cardinals
Who served the purple Pope :

And burghers too, in burly state,
With chain and mace were there,

And many a tattered pilgrim loon

Uncouth with matted hair :

And kings, who from palatial halls

A barefoot journey came,

Through Duthach's potent grace to shrive

Their souls from guilty blame.

And one I saw- -a Caithness man,
Who ran with dusty feet,

In Duthach's holy shrine to claim
The unprofaned retreat,

From chase of the red-handed men,
McNeills, a lawless crew,

Who spurned the ban of the holy girth,
And harried, and plundered, and slew,

And flung their brands on holy roof,

And feared nor priest nor king,

And earned with blood the robbers' wage

On gallows-tree to swing.

And I saw :-but while I sate and mused,

And gazed with shaping eye,

The steam-car looming through the fog Came sharply hissing by.

I hugged my plaid, I grasped my staff,
The air-spun show was fled,

And through the Fen to Bonar brig,
With snorting speed I sped.