The old tree groans to the blast; The falling branch resounds. The wind drives the clung thorn Along the sighing grass; He shakes amid the night. Dark, dusky, howling is night, Cloudy, windy, full of ghosts; The dead are abroad; my friends Receive me from the night.




—from “The Six Bards,”


James MacPherson, 1736—1796

Загрузка...