DOWN the hill path echo the hoof-beats hollow, The empty saddle sways; Sadly the road that weary feet must follow Winds through the darkling braes. Soft fall the clansman voices, hushed, complete in A pathos worse than woe; Meet tongue indeed to murmur of defeat in— The Gaelic, gentle, low! Up in the cliffs the raven cries for slaughter, The caustic croaking mocks A beaten man whose heart is in the water That squelches in his socks. Bird of ill omen, sombre and accurst one, Be still upon your crag, You surely don't suppose that I'm the first one Who missed a rotten stag? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EVE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI A SUMMER NIGHT by GEORGE WILLIAM RUSSELL A CHRISTMAS CAROL by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE THE SINGER IN THE PRISON by WALT WHITMAN AIR: 'CAPTAIN JINKS' by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS LONG DELAYED by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM |