THY life was like the mountain stream, That in the rocky dell has birth, Now rushing, while its waters gleam, Exulting in the sun's warm beam; And, when its wild waves brightest seem, Dark sinking in its native earth. Who, now, shall bid the clansmen speed The signal and the gathering-cry? Who, now, shall rein the stalwart steed? Who, now, shall urge the glorious deed? Who, now, the warrior clans shall lead When the battle-shout is nigh? Though many a noble one lies dead -- Though groaning heaps around thee lie -- Though many a gallant chief, who led His clans, o'er night, has bravely bled; Though many a daring soul has fled -- Yet, oh! what were they all to thee? The day-beam breaks on the green hill-side, And gleams o'er hill and river; And the Saxon banner is floating wide, With the blood of the hapless heroes dyed; But MacCaura's boast, and MacCaura's pride, Is faded and lost for ever. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BURIAL by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY THE LOST CHORD by ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER EASTER (TO A BASE AND TWO TREBLES) by JOSEPH BEAUMONT COMPENSATION by MARY BEALE CARR TO SARAH, COUNTESS OF JERSEY, ON HER BIRTHDAY by GEORGE CRABBE ON A MARCH MORNING by THOMAS AUGUSTINE DALY |