 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
17
CALLANISH, IN LEWIS.
Look back,—look back,—look back,—three thousand years;And dream of Callanish, in that old time
When, worshipping with simple right sublime
The God of darkling Nature's hopes and fears,
Around these hoary stones Druidic seers,
Hoary as they, were clustered: dream it out,
How, weaving as they went their magic rhyme,
They paced this mystic circle round about,
Or watched with trembling awe that central den,
Where the red victim lay; dream on, and see
Yon outer crowd of skin-clad fierce-eyed men
Shouting rude pæans as they bend the knee
To Him, the One Great Worship of all lands,
Who dwelleth not in temples made with hands.
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |