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7
MONA.
I.
“Shroud, in the billowy mist's deep bosom shroud“My ravag'd isle!”—the voice was vain—
Mona! mark yon kindling cloud
That seems to fire the main;
As, flashing to the distant skies,
Broad the hostile flames arise
From the reverential wood;
Red its central gloom with blood!
Many a white-rob'd Druid hoar
Totters in the stream of gore;
Meets the faulchion's furious blow;
Sinking, execrates the foe;
Or, across the Cromlech's stone,
Pours his dark mysterious moan;
Or grasps his shrine, and hails the stroke,
Stabb'd beneath the holy oak;
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Hurries down the dimwood glade;
And uproots her bristling hair,
Paler amid the ghastly glare!
II.
But lo! the scenes of other days are fled!Yet mysterious horror fills
The long-scoop'd dales, where Druids bled,
And deepens the dark hills!
Thro' the tufted rock that wide
Opens its encavern'd side,
Ivied ruins gleaming gray,
Break the torrent's foamy way.
There the Enthusiast loves to dwell,
Low in the romantic dell;
Tracing temples, abbey walls,
Shiver'd arches, castle halls:
Whether the sun dart his light
Mid the branches, mossy white;
Or the star of eve, aslant,
Glimmer on the spectre-haunt;
9
Add their store of mellow sound,
To the crash of tumbling heaps
That o'erbrow'd the craggy steeps;
To the murmurs of the cave,
Fretted by many a restless wave!
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