 | Lays of the Highlands and Islands |  |
107
II
BEN CRUACHAN IN A DARK EVENING.
As a fair mountain when the day hath run
His course, and scanty stars are faintly seen,
Swathes him in folds of sombre mantle dun,
Shorn of the purple glories and the green;
So a fair lady—saddest of sad sights—
Who yields her humour to a peevish whim,
Casts out the radiant Phœbus, and for him
Brings in a devil, who blows out all the lights.
O, if ye knew, all dames with lovely faces,
How much ye mar your beauty with your spleen,
You'd covet more than finest silks and laces
The spirit-power that paints the fleshly screen!
Manners are masks; but keep the fountain bright,
And thy whole body shall be full of light.
| Lays of the Highlands and Islands | |