Poetical Works of Mathilde Blind

ntolerably bright, And spanned the sea with a broad bridge of light. Now St. Columba rose from where he sat Among his monkish crew ; and lifting high His pale worn hands, his eagle glances met The awful glory which suffused the sky. As soars the lark, sweet singing from the sod So prayer was wafted from his soul to God. For they in their rude coracle that day Shuddering had climbed the crests of mountainous wave, To plunge down glassy walls of shifting spray, From which death roared as from an open grave; Till, the grim fury of the tempest o'er, Burst on their ravished sight an azure shore. Ah ! is this solid earth which meets their view, Or some fair cloud-land islanded on high ? Those crags are too aerially blue, Too soft those mountains mingling with the sky, And too ineffable their dewy gleam, For aught but fabric of a fleeting dream. Entranced they gaze, and o'er the glimmering track Of seething gold and foaming silver row : Now to their left tower headlands, bare and black And blasted, with grey centuries of snow, Deep in whose echoing caves, with hollow sighs, Monotonous seas for ever ebb and rise. Rounding these rocks, they glide into a deep And tranquil bay, in whose translucent flood The shadows of the azure mountains sleep : High on a hill, amid a scanty wood, A square and rough-hewn tower, above the pines Like some red beacon, in the sunset shines. A few more vigorous strokes, and the...