Homeward we turn. Isle of Columba's Cell,
Where Christian piety's soul-cheering spark
(Kindled from Heaven between the light and dark
Of time) shone like the morning-star, farewell!--
Remote St. Kilda, art thou visible?
No--but farewell to thee, beloved see-mark
For many a voyage made in Fancy's bark,
When, with more hues than in the rainbow dwell
Thou a mysterious intercourse dost hold,
Extracting from clear skies and air serene,
And out of sun-bright waves, a lucid veil,
That thickens, spreads, and, mingling fold with fold,
Makes known, when thou no longer canst be seen,
Thy whereabout, to warn the approaching sail.
Design, coding, and editing: Copyright © 1998 by James M. Garrett. All rights reserved.