“地球,地球在奥兰的口中,他可能提单ab no more.' Gaelic Proverb. I. THE storm had ceased to rave: subsiding slow Lashed ocean heaved, and then lay calm and still; From the clear North a little breeze did blow Severing the clouds: high o'er a wooded hill The slant sun hung intolerably bright, And spanned the sea with a broad bridge of light. II. 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 is wafted from his soul to God. III. For they in their rude coracle that day Shuddered 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, Bursts on their ravished sight an azure shore. IV. Ah! is this solid earth which meets their view, Or some still cloud-land islanded on high? Those crags are too aërially blue, Too soft those mountains mingling with the sky, And too ineffable their dewy gleam, For aught but fabric of a fleeting dream. V. 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. VI. 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 green foliage, stood A square and rough-hewn tower, whose time-bleached stone, Like some red beacon, with the sunset shone. VII. A few more vigorous strokes, and the sharp keel Grates on the beach, on which, inclining low Their tonsured heads, the monks adoring kneel; While St. Columba, his pale face aglow With outward light and inward, lifts on high The Cross, swart outlined on the burning sky. VIII. Impassive, though in silent wonder, stood The islesmen while these worshipped, on their shore, A thorn-crowned figure nailed upon the wood, From whose pierced side the dark blood seemed to pour; While on the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost They loudly called as brow and breast they crost. IX. Spoke now their Master, in a voice whose ring Was like the west wind's in a twilight grove: 'Glad tidings to this sea-girt isle we bring, Good tidings of our heavenly Father's love, Who sent His only Son,--oh, marvellous Deep love!--to die that He might ransom us.' X. 'Come! listen to the story of our Lord! Sweet Jesus Christ, a child of lowly birth, Whom in the manger the wise kings adored, For well they knew Him Lord of Heaven and Earth, With myrrh and spice they journeyed from the far Prophetic East, led by the Pilgrim Star: XI. 'And when the star stood still, and mildly shone Above a shed where lay the new-born child, They hailed Him God's only-begotten Son, Saviour of sinners and Redeemer mild; Eve's promised seed, when she with streaming eyes Saw the bright sword wave her from Paradise. XII. 'For we are children of a fallen race, Our sins are grievous in the Father's sight, Death was our doom, but that by heavenly grace God sent His Son to be a steadfast light, Which calmly shining o'er life's troubled wave, The storm-tossed souls of erring men might save. XIII. 'Go unto Him, all ye that toil and weep, Ye that are weary with the long day's load; He is the Shepherd watching o'er His sheep, He leads His flock along the narrow road; And when He hears the bleating lamb's alarm He folds the weak one in His sheltering arm. XIV. 'Ah, tender Shepherd, who didst love us so, Choosing to die that we Thy flock might live; What bitter anguish, ah! what heavy woe To think, O Lord! that mortal hands should give This wound that cleaves Thy side, that mortal scorn In mockery crowned Thee with the barren thorn!' XV. Sad was Columba's face, his words were slow As though reluctant to the piteous tale-- But now his eyes with sacred rapture glow, And his wan features kindle, like a pale Dissolving cloud through which the moon is shed: He speaks of Christ re-risen from the dead. XVI. He ceased, then cried: 'Glory unto the Lord Whose mercy is as boundless as the sea; Fruitful to-day makes He my feeble word, For with faith's eye an ancient chief I see, Whose bark o'er the blue deep is drawing nigh, He comes to be baptised before he die.' XVII. Scarce had he ended when towards the land A wicker boat sped swiftly o'er the b