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Heaven-like-yet he looked as human

As supernal beauty can,
More compassionate than woman,

Lordly more than man.
And as some sweet clarion's breath
Stirs the soldier's scorn of death-
So his accents bade me brook
The spectre's eyes of icy look,
Till it shut them-turned its head,
Like a beaten foe, and fled.

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Types not this,” I said, “ fair spirit !
That

my

death-hour is not come? Say, what days shall I inherit ?

Tell my soul their sum.”
"No," he said, “ yon phantom's aspect,

Trust me, would appal thee worse,
Held in clearly measured prospect :-

Ask not for a curse !
Make not, for I overhear
Thine unspoken thoughts as clear
As thy mortal ear could catch
The close brought tickings of a watch.
Make not the untold request
That's now revolving in thy breast.

1

“ 'Tis to live again, remeasuring

Youth's years, like a scene rehearsed,
In thy second lifetime treasuring

Knowledge from the first.
Hast thou felt, poor self-deceiver !

Life's career so void of pain,
As to wish its fitful fever

New begun again?
Could experience, ten times thine,
Pain from Being disentwine-

Threads by Fate together spun?
Could thy flight heaven's lightning shun?
No, nor could thy foresight's glance
'Scape the myriad shafts of chance.
“ Would'st thou bear again Love's trouble-

Friendship's death-dissevered ties;
Toil to grasp or miss the bubble

Of ambition's prize?
Say thy life’s new-guided action

Flowed from Virtue's fairest springs-
Still would Envy and Detraction

Double not their stings ?
Worth itself is but a charter
To be mankind's distinguished martyr.'
-I caught the moral, and cried, “ Hail,
Spirit! let us onward sail
Envying, fearing, hating none,
Guardian Spirit, steer me on!”

REULLURA*.

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Star of the morn and eve,

Reullura shone like thee,
And well for her might Aodh grieve,

The dark-attired Culdee.f
Peace to their shades! the

pure

Culdees Were Albyn's earliests priests of God, Reullura, in Gaelic, signifies“ beautiful star."

The Culdees were the primitive clergy of Scotland, and apparentiy her only clergy from the sixth to the eleventh century. They were of Irish origin, and their monastery on the island of lona or Ikolmill, was the seininary of Christianity in North Britain. Presbyterian writers have wished to prove them to have been a sort of Presbyters, strangers to the Roman Church and Episcopacy. It seems to be established that they were not enemies to Eriscopacy :--but that they were not slavishly bubjected to Rome, like the clergy of later periods, appears by their resisting the Papal ordinances respecting the celibacy of religious men, on which account they were ultimately displaced by the Scottish sovereigns to make way for more Popish canons.

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Ere yet an island of her seas

By foot of Saxon monk was trode, Long ere her churchmen by bigotry Were barred from holy wedlock’s tie. 'Twas then that Aodh, famed afar,

In Iona preached the word with power, And Reullura, beauty's star,

Was the partner of his lower. But, Aodb, the roof lies low,

And the thistle-down waves bleaching, And the bat fits to and fro

Where the Gael once heard thy preaching ; And fall’n in is each columned isle

Where the chiefs and the people knelt. 'Twas near that temple's goodly pile

That honoured of men they dwelt. For Aodh was wise in the sacred law, And bright Reullura's eyes oft saw

The veil of fate uplifted. Alas, with what visions of awe

Her soul in that hour was giftedWhen pale in the temple and faint,

With Aodh she stood alone By the statue of an aged saint!

Fair sculptured was the stone,
It bore a crucifix;

Fame said it once had graced
A Christian temple, which the Picts

In the Briton's land laid waste :
The Pictish men, by St. Columb taught,
Had hither the holy relic brought.
Reullura eyed the statue's face,

And cried, " It is, he shall come, “Even he in this very place,

To avenge my martyrdom.

For, wo to the Gael people!

Ulvfagre is on the main,
And Iona shall look from tower and steeple

On the coming ships of the Dane;
And, dames and daughters, shall all your locks

With the spoiler's grasp entwine?
No! some shall have shelter in caves and rocks,

And the deep sea shall be mine.
Baffled by me shall the Dane return,
And here shall bis torch in the temple burn.
Until that holy man shall plough

The waves from Innisfail.
His sail is on the deep e'en now,

And swells to the southern gale." “ Ah! knowest thou not; my bride,"

The holy Aodh said, “ That the saint whose form we stand beside

Has for ages slept with the dead?” “ He liveth, he liveth," she said again,

For the span of his life tenfold extends Beyond the wonted years of men.

He sits by the graves of well-loved friends That died ere thy grandsire’s grandsire’s birth; The oak is decayed with old age on earth, Whose acorn-seed had been planted by him;

And his parents remember the day of dread When the sun on the cross looked dim,

And the graves gave up their dead

Yet preaching from clime to clime,

He hath roamed the earth for ages, And hither he shall come in time

When the wrath of the heathen rages, In time a remnant from the sword

Ah! but a remnant to deliver :

Yet, blest be the name of the Lord!
His martyrs shall

into bliss for ever,
Lochlin,* appalled, shall put up her steel,
And thou shalt embark on the bounding keel;
Safe shalt thou pass through her hundred ships,

With the Saint and a remnant of the Gael,
And the Lord will instruct thy lips

To preach in Innisfail.”+
The sun, now about to set,

Was burning o'er Tiriee,
And no gathering cry rose yet

O’er the isles of• Albyn's sea,
Whilst Reullura saw far rowers dip

Their oars beneath the sun,
And the phantom of many a Danish ship,

Where ship there yet was none.
And the shield of alarms was dumb,
Nor did their warning till midnight come.
When watchfires burst from across the main

From Rona and Uist and Skey,.
To tell that the ships of the Dane

And the red-haired slayers were nigb.
Our islemen arose from slumbers,

And buckled on their arms;
But few, alas! were their numbers

To Lochlin's mailed swarms.
And the blade of the bloody Norse

Has filled the shores of the Gael
With many a floating corse,

And with many a woman's wail.
They have lighted the islands with ruin's torch
And the holy men of Iona's church

* Denmark.

| Ireland. * Striking the shield was an ancient mode of convocation to war among the Gael,

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