Lays of the Highlands and Islands | ||
47
VI.
MULL WEATHER.
Weather!—why blame the weather? on the mountains
Storm with the sunshine weaves the shifting show,
While from the green braes leap the white-maned fountains
With lusty bicker to the vale below.
I'd have him whipt back to the reeking town,
Lord of some breezeless garret in the mews,
Who ducks for shelter when the rain comes down,
And picks his dainty path with shining shoes.
Not so old Ossian, Celtic bard sublime,
Who loved the floating mist and sailing gloom,
And the swoln ocean-wave's far-murmuring boom,
And in the hall of heroes piled a rhyme,
Which on some battered peak a man shall sing,
High-perched beneath the Eagle's stormy wing.
Lays of the Highlands and Islands | ||