Sonnet - I Poem by Anne MacVicar Grant

AWFUL and stern the rugged entrance low'rs
That leads to Caledonia's last retreats,
Where oft in days of yore, contending pow'rs
On the dark threshold shone in dreadful feats:
Where deep and dark the Garrie foams below,
Erewhile with hostile gore her sanguine course
Distain'd, hoarse thund'ring bore the tale of woe
To lands far distant from her gloomy source:
Here oft contending chiefs, in ireful mood,
Bade civil discord rage, like pent up fire:
Here gallant clans, profuse of generous blood,
Indignant, slow, from Nassau's troops retire:
Here, oft at eve, their shadowy forms are seen
Like mist slow gliding o'er the mountains green.