But now the passionate lament, Which from the crowd on shore was sent, The cries which broke from old and young In Gaelic, or the English tongue, Are stifled-all is still. And quickly with a silent crew A Boat is ready to pursue; And from the shore their course they take, But soon they move with softer pace, A Youngling of the wild-duck's nest Or as the wily Sailors crept To seize (while on the Deep it slept) They steal upon their prey. With sound the least that can be made They follow, more and more afraid, More cautious as they draw more near; But in his darkness he can hear, And guesses their intent. Lei-gha-Lei-gha"-then did he cry "Lei-gha-Lei-gha"-most eagerly; Thus did he cry, and thus did pray, Alas! and when he felt their hands- That with a motion overthrow A palace of the proudest shew, So all his dreams, that inward light With which his soul had shone so bright, All vanish'd;-'twas a heartfelt cross To him, a heavy, bitter loss, As he had ever known. But hark! a gratulating voice Had watch'd the event, and now can see And then, when he was brought to land, Full sure they were a happy band, Which gathering round did on the banks Of that great Water give God thanks, And welcomed the poor Child. And in the general joy of heart The blind Boy's little Dog took part; But most of all, his Mother dear, She led him home, and wept amain, When he was in the house again : Tears flowed in torrents from her eyes; She could not blame him, or chastise: She was too happy far. Thus, after he had fondly braved And in the lonely Highland Dell • See note at the end of this Volume. |