O God! it was a sight that made the hair turn

white,

That wither'd up the heart's blood into woe,
To see the faces loom in the dimly lighted gloom,
And the butcher'd lying bloodily below;

While melting, with no sound, fell so peacefully around

The whiteness and the wonder of the Snow!

Ay, and thicker, thicker, poured the pale Silence of the Lord,

From the hollow of His hand we saw it shed, And it gather'd round us there, till we groan'd and gasp'd for air,

And beneath was ankle-deep and stainèd red; And soon, whatever wight was smitten down in fight Was buried in the drift ere he was dead!

Then we beheld at length the troopers in their strength,

For faster, faster, faster up they streamed,

And their pistols flashing bright showed their faces ashen white,

And their blue steel caught the driving Moon, and gleamed.

But a dying voice cried, 'Fly!' And behold, e'en

at the cry,

A panic fell upon us, and we screamed!

Oh, shrill and awful rose, 'mid the splashing blood and blows,

Our scream unto the Lord that let us die;

And the Fiend amid us roared his defiance at the Lord, And his servants slew the strong man 'mid his cry;

And the Lord kept still in Heaven, and the only answer given

Was the white Snow falling, falling, from the sky.

Then we fled! the darkness grew! 'mid the driving cold we flew,

Each alone, yea, each for those whom he held dear; And I heard upon the wind the thud of hoofs behind, And the scream of those who perish'd in their fear, But I knew by heart each path through the darkness of the strath,

And I hid myself all day,—and I am here.

Ah! gathered in one fold be the holy men and bold,
And beside them the accursed and the proud;
The Howiesons are there, and the Wylies of Glen Ayr,
Kirkpatrick, and Macdonald, and Macleod.

And while the widow groans, lo! God's Hand around
their bones

His thin ice windeth whitely, as a shroud.

On mountain and in vale our women will look pale,
And palest where the ocean surges boom:
Buried 'neath snow-drift white, with no holy prayer or rite,
Lie the loved ones they look for in the gloom;

And deeper, deeper still, spreads the Snow on vale and hill,
And deeper and yet deeper is their Tomb!

THE BOOK OF ORM.

1870.

ROBERT BUCHANAN.

I.

THE DREAM OF THE WORLD WITHOUT
DEATH.

(II. FROM BOOK III., SONGS OF CORRUPTION.)

NOW, sitting by her side, worn out with weeping,

Behold, I fell to sleep, and had a vision,

Wherein I heard a wondrous Voice intoning:

Crying aloud, "The Master on His throne
Openeth now the seventh seal of wonder,
And beckoneth back the angel men name Death."

And at His feet the mighty Angel kneeleth,
Breathing not; and the Lord doth look upon him,
Saying, "Thy wanderings on earth are ended."

And lo! the mighty Shadow sitteth idle
Even at the silver gates of heaven,
Drowsily looking in on quiet waters,

And puts his silence among men no longer.

The world was very quiet. Men in traffic
Cast looks over their shoulders; pallid seamen
Shivered to walk upon the decks alone;

And women barred their doors with bars of iron,
In the silence of the night; and at the sunrise
Trembled behind the husbandınen afield.

I could not see a kirkyard near or far;

I thirsted for a green grave, and my vision
Was weary for the white gleam of a tombstone.

But hearkening dumbly, ever and anon
I heard a cry out of a human dwelling,
And felt the cold wind of a lost one's going.

One struck a brother fiercely, and he fell,

And faded in a darkness; and that other
Tore his hair, and was afraid, and could not perish.

One struck his aged mother on the mouth,

And she vanished with a grey grief from his hearthstone. One melted from her bairn, and on the ground

With sweet unconscious eyes the bairn lay smiling.
And many made a weeping among mountains,
And hid themselves in caverns, and were drunken.

I heard a voice from out the beauteous earth,
Whose side rolled up from winter into summer,
Crying, "I am grievous for my children."

I heard a voice from out the hoary ocean,
Crying, "Burial in the breast of me were better,
Yea, burial in the salt flags and green crystals."

I heard a voice from out the hollow ether,
Saying, "The thing ye cursed hath been abolished-
Corruption, and decay, and dissolution !"

And the world shrieked, and the summer-time was bitter, And men and women feared the air behind them;

And for lack of its green graves the world was hateful.

I came upon a woman thin with sorrow,
Whose voice was like the crying of a sea-gull.

Saying, "O Angel of the Lord, come hither,
And bring me him I seek for on thy bosom,
That I may close his eyelids and embrace him.
"I curse thee that I cannot look upon him!
I curse thee that I know not he is sleeping!
Yet know that he has vanished upon God!

"I laid my little girl upon a wood-bier,
And very sweet she seemed, and near unto me;
And slipping flowers into her shroud was comfort.
"I put my silver mother in the darkness,
And kissed her, and was solaced by her kisses,
And set a stone, to mark the place, above her.
"And green, green were their quiet sleeping-places,
So green that it was pleasant to remember

That I and my tall man would sleep beside them. "The closing of dead eyelids is not dreadful, For comfort comes upon us when we close them, And tears fall, and our sorrow grows familiar; "And we can sit above them where they slumber, And spin a dreamy pain into a sweetness, And know indeed that we are very near them.

"But to reach out empty arms is surely dreadful, And to feel the hollow empty world is awful, And bitter grow the silence and the distance.

"There is no space for grieving or for weeping;
No touch, no cold, no agony to strive with,
And nothing but a horror and a blankness!"

Now behold I saw a woman in a mud-hut

*

Raking the white spent embers with her fingers, And fouling her bright hair with the white ashes.