["The last I saw was on the wing," off the promontory of Fairhead, county of Antrim. I mention this because, though my tour in Ireland with Mr. Marshall and his son was made many years ago, this allusion to the eagle is the only image supplied by it to the poetry I have since written. We travelled through that country in October, and to the shortness of the days and the speed with which we travelled (in a carriage and four) may be ascribed this want of notices, in my verse, of a country so interesting. The deficiency I am somewhat ashamed of, and it is the more remarkable as contrasted with my Scotch and Continental tours, of which are to be found in these volumes so many memorials.--I. F.] Dishonoured Rock and Ruin! that, by law Tyrannic, keep the Bird of Jove embarred Like a lone criminal whose life is spared. Vexed is he, and screams loud. The last I saw Was on the wing; stooping, he struck with awe 5 Man, bird, and beast; then, with a consort paired,[704] From a bold headland, their loved aery's guard, Flew high[705] above Atlantic waves, to draw Light from the fountain of the setting sun. Such was this Prisoner once; and, when his plumes The sea-blast ruffles as the storm comes on, 11 Then, for a moment, he, in spirit, resumes[706] His rank 'mong freeborn creatures that live free, His power, his beauty, and his majesty. FOOTNOTES: [704] 1835. Was on the wing, and struck my soul with awe, Now wheeling low, then with a consort paired, MS. copy sent to Sir William Rowan Hamilton. [705] 1835. Flying ... MS. to Sir W. R. Hamilton. [706] 1845. In spirit, for a moment, he resumes MS. to Sir W. R. Hamilton, and 1835. XI IN THE SOUND OF MULL [Touring late in the season in Scotland is an uncertain speculation. We were detained a week by rain at Bunaw on Loch Etive in a vain hope that the weather would clear up and allow me to show my daughter the beauties at Glencoe. Two days we were at the Isle of Mull, on a visit to Major Campbell; but it rained incessantly, and we were obliged to give up our intention of going to Staffa. The rain pursued us to Tyndrum, where the Twelfth Sonnet was composed in a storm.--I. F.]