 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
96
COLOMBA.
Mournfully breaks the north wave on thy shore,Silent Iona, and the mocking blast
Sweeps sternly o'er thy relics of the past,
The stricken cross, the desecrated tomb
Of abbots, and barbarian kings of yore:
Thee from the blight of death's encircling gloom
Colomba saved, and to thy cloisters grey
In pious zeal for God, and love for man,
Of mighty truth led on the conquering van,
And largely pour'd fair learning's hallow'd ray
On night's dark deep,—an isolated star,
The Pharos of those arctic Cyclades,
That lighted to her rocky nest from far
Mercy's white dove, faint flutterer o'er the seas.
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