ULTlfMA THULS 79 



strings of wild-duck flying to the reeds never shun those 

 tall, grey figures. Through them, without thought of 



harm. 



" With his wings aslant, 

 Sails the fierce cormorant, 

 Seeking some rocky haunt 



With his prey laden." 



But as the dusk of evening gathers, and the light of 

 sunset silvers all the waters of the loch, when dark 

 against the glow rise the blue hills of Hoy, when the 

 home-returning herons that pass on slow wings overhead 

 are hardly seen, then to the rambler wandering by the 

 shore the old stones seem in the uncertain light to waken 

 into life, and like a procession of priests to pass with 

 bent heads and slow and stately pace along the margin 

 of the sea. 



