 | Lyra Pastoralis |  |
Mount Glamaig, Isle of Skye
The smoke as of a sacrifice all dayCrowned green Glamaig, which, like an altar vast,
Lifts its huge tapering front to meet the blast,
For ever circled with a cloud-wreath grey.
But from the West was flung one parting ray,
Ere the dim evening into darkness past:
The altar-smoke burst into flame at last,
And in a blaze of glory died away.
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Send up pure incense, gathering mists may rest,
And clouds of various trouble veil their skies:
But lo! at evening-time they shall be blest;
For them a sunset-glory shall arise,
And shafts of splendour smite them from the West.
| Lyra Pastoralis | |