The Shades of eve had crossed the glen
That frowns o’er infant Avonmore,
When, nigh Loch Dan, two weary men,
We stopped before a cottage door.
“God save all here,” my comrade cries,
And rattles on the raised latch-pin;
“God save you kindly,” quick replies
A clear sweet voice, and asks us in.
We enter; from the wheel...
Come, see the Dolphin’s anchor forged; ’t is at a white heat now:
The bellows ceased, the flames decreased; though on the forge’s brow
The little flames still fitfully play through the sable mound:
And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking round,
All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare;
Some rest upon their sledges here,...
