Till the motherhood, mistress of death, shrieks, shrieks through the glen,

And that place of the lashing is live with men,

And Maclean, and the gillie 2 that told him, dash up in a desperate race. 60 Not a breath's time for asking; an eyeglance reveals all the tale untold. They follow mad Hamish afar up the crag toward the sea,

And the lady cries: "Clansmen, run for a fee!

Yon castle and lands to the two first hands that shall hook him and hold

whisper of vows,

the green colonnades

Of the dim sweet woods, of the dear dark woods,

Of the heavenly woods and glades, run to the radiant marginal sand-beach within

That

The wide sea-marshes of Glynn;

10

of the plain,

As a silver-wrought garment that clings to and follows the firm sweet limbs of a girl.

Vanishing, swerving, evermore curving again into sight,

Softly the sand-beach wavers away to a dim gray looping of light. And what if behind me to westward the wall of the woods stands high? 55 The world lies east: how ample, the marsh and the sea and the sky! A league and a league of marsh-grass, waist-high, broad in the blade, Green, and all of a height, and un

flecked with a light or a shade, Stretch leisurely off, in a pleasant plain, To the terminal blue of the main.

60