Thee in some seaward glen, I ween,

On sharp Loffodin's shore,

In frozen folds of gleaming green

The giant glacier bore.

Then down the steep it harshly slid,
Till, loosen'd from the high land,

With wrench enorm its compact form
Was launch'd, a floating island,

Into the Arctic deep. And thou,
In its stark bosom buried,

Through seas which huge Leviathans plough,
To this South strand wert hurried.

Then, from its cold close gripe unbound

By summer's permeant breath,

Thy wandering bulk a station found
On this wide sandy heath.

And here thy watch hath been, God knows How long, and what a strange

Masque of Time's motley-shifting shows

Hath known thee without change.

Seas thou hast seen to dry land turned,

And dry land turned to seas,

And fiery cones that wildly burned,
Where flocks now feed at ease.

By thee the huge-limbed breathing things, Crude Earth's portentous race,

Passed, and long lizard-shapes with wings Swept o'er thy weathered face.

To thee first came man's jaded limb

From Eastern Babel far;

Around thee rose the Druid's hymn,
And the cry of Celtic war.

By thee the Roman soldier made

The mountain-cleaving road,
The Saxon boor beside thee strayed,
The lordly Norman strode.
The Papal monk thy measure took ;
The proud priest triple-crowned
Mumbled a blessing from his book,

And claimed the holy ground.

By thee the insolent Edward passed,
When mad with eager greed,

A bridge of law-spun lies he cast
Across the Scottish Tweed.

And thou that vengeful day didst know,
When strong with righteous scorn

Young Freedom rose, and smote the foe,
At glorious Bannockburn.

Thou saw'st, when 'neath thy hoary shade

Upon the old brown sod

The plaided preacher sate, and made

His fervent prayer to God,

What time men tried by courtly art

To trim, and craft of kings,

The faith that soars from a people's heart, And flaps untutored wings.

Thou saw'st, from out old unkempt bowers,

Huge peopled cities rise,

And merchant kings with stately towers
Invade the troubled skies.

Thick rose the giant vents, that mar

Heaven's lustrous blue domain,

And whirling wheel and hissing car
Disturb thy silent reign.

And thou-but what thou yet may'st see

The pious Muse withholds;

The curious art be far from me,

To unroll Time's fateful folds.

When Earth, that wheels on viewless wing, Is twenty centuries older,

Some bard, where Scotland was, shall sing

The story of the Boulder.

SOLITUDE.

ALONE, alone, and all alone!

What could more lonely be?

'Neath the mist-wove pall of a dull grey night, On a treeless shore and bare;

Nor wind's low sigh,

Nor sea-birds' cry,

Stirring the stagnant air;

And only one dim beacon-light

Far-twinkling o'er the sea.

And the wave that raved but yesternight, So blustering and so wild,

Is smooth and faint, and crestless quite,

And breaks on the sand as faint and slight As the whispers of a child.

Alone, alone, and all alone,