IN SHADOWLAND

The Database of Ornament

        BETWEEN the moaning of the mountain stream
            And the hoarse thunder of the Atlantic deep,
            An outcast from the peaceful realms of sleep
        I lie, and hear as in a fever-dream
        The homeless night-wind in the darkness
            scream

            And wail around the inaccessible steep
            Down whose gaunt sides the spectral torrents leap
        From crag to crag,— till almost I could deem
        The plaided ghosts of buried centuries
            Were mustering in the glens with bow and spear
            And shadowy hounds to hunt the shadowy deer,
        Mix in phantasmal sword-play, or, with eyes
            Of wrath and pain immortal, wander o’er
            Loved scenes where human footstep comes no more

                                                                                    NOËL PATON.