Lays of the Highlands and Islands :: :: University of Virginia Library

Thou huge grey stone upon the heath,
With lichens crusted well,
I marvel much, if thou found breath,
What story thou would'st tell.
Oft wandering o'er the birch-grown hill,
To hear the wild winds moan,
I wonder still what chance or skill
Hath pitched thee here alone.

Where wert thou when Sire Adam first
Drew his mischanceful breath,
And in the bowers of bliss was cursed
With everlasting death,
Then when the damned fiend, who loves
The mask of snake and toad,
Crept into Paradisian groves,
And stole Eve's heart from God?

203

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.

204

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.

205

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 people cities rise,
And merchant kings with stately towers
Invade the troubled skies.

206

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.