 | The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir |  |
105
ERIC'S DIRGE.
I
Shon'st thou but to pass away,Chieftain, in thy bright noon-day?
(All who knew thee, love thee!)
Who to Eric would not yield?
Red hand in the battle field,
Kinsman's idol, Beauty's shield,
Flowers we strew above thee!
II
Eagle-like, in Glory's sky,Soar'd thy dauntless spirit high;
(All who knew thee, love thee!)
Scion of a matchless race,
Strong in form, and fair of face,
First in field, and first in chase,
Flowers we strew above thee!
106
III
Three to one Argyle came on,Yet thy glance defiance shone;
(All who knew thee, love thee!)
Fear thine Islesmen never knew;
We were firm, tho' we were few;
And in front thy banner flew:—
Flowers we strew above thee!
IV
What mere men could do was done;Two at least we slew for one;
(All who knew thee, love thee!)
But, ah fatal was our gain!
For, amid the foremost slain,
Lay'st thou, whom we mourn in vain:—
Flowers we strew above thee!
V
Mourn!—nor own one tearless eye,Barra, Harris, Uist, and Skye!
(All who knew thee, love thee!)
Eric! low thou liest the while,
Shadowed by Iona's pile;
May no step thy stone defile:—
Flowers we strew above thee!
| The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir | |