 | Our Holiday Among The Hills |  |
THE BURN.
Where hazel-branches meet o'erhead
In shade translucent green,
The burn springs from its rocky bed
And plashes cool between.
It dashes brightly down the den,
Touched by the morning sun,
And seeks the flat green fields of men
To have its work begun.
In shade translucent green,
The burn springs from its rocky bed
And plashes cool between.
It dashes brightly down the den,
Touched by the morning sun,
And seeks the flat green fields of men
To have its work begun.
It stays not for the pink wild-rose
That bends and blushes shy,
Nor for the bank where glittering grows
The graceful birk-tree nigh,
Nor for the blue-bell, throned a queen
Amid the strawberry leaves—
For all the beauties of the scene
It neither stays nor grieves.
That bends and blushes shy,
Nor for the bank where glittering grows
The graceful birk-tree nigh,
Nor for the blue-bell, throned a queen
Amid the strawberry leaves—
For all the beauties of the scene
It neither stays nor grieves.
38
It steals one look, in leaping down,
Towards the distant sky
Where grand and solemn, still and lown,
The cloudy mountains lie,
Then flings its bright young life along
The plains that thirsty be,
And rushes in the river strong
Towards the endless sea!
Towards the distant sky
Where grand and solemn, still and lown,
The cloudy mountains lie,
Then flings its bright young life along
The plains that thirsty be,
And rushes in the river strong
Towards the endless sea!
| Our Holiday Among The Hills | |