THE FABLES OF FLORA. 79 



Unlike to living sounds it came. 

 Unmixed, unmelodised with breath ; 



But, grinding through some scrannel frame. 

 Creaked from the bony lungs of death. 



I 



I hear it still—" Depart," it cries; 



" No tribute bear to shades unblest: 

 " Know, here a bloody Druid lies, 



" Who was not nursed at Nature's breast. 



'* Associate he with demons dire, 

 " O'er human victims held the knife, 



" And pleased to see the babe expire, 

 " Smiled grimly o'er its quivering life. 



" Behold his crimson-streaming hand 



" Erect! — his dark, fixed, murderous eye!'' 



In the dim cave I saw him stand; 

 And my heart died — I felt it die. 



