Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Glencoe

Glencoe.

Keep silence, lest the rocks in thunder fall;Keep silence, lest ye wake the hapless dead,Whose blood is crying from the ground to callThe doom of justice on the murderer's head!Dark and more dark, ye shades of evening lower;Wide, and more wide, ye gathering tempests, spread,Thick clouds and waters round the Avenging PowerWhose malison is here! The river moans;The wind, with deepening sigh from hour to hour,Saddens the gloom, a curse is on the land;From every caverned cliff sepulchral groansAppal the desolation; and around,The melancholy mountains loathe the sun,And shall, till the career of Time be done.