Heath flowers being a collection of poems, chiefly lyrical, written in the Highlands. By William Glen |
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ABERFOYLE IN MOON-LIGHT. |
 | Heath flowers |  |
95
ABERFOYLE IN MOON-LIGHT.
How lovely in moon-light is sweet Aberfoyle,
When the night-breeze the forest is waving,
While the foaming cataract, bright gleaming the while,
In the mountain's dark bosom is raving.
When the night-breeze the forest is waving,
While the foaming cataract, bright gleaming the while,
In the mountain's dark bosom is raving.
Then far up the Strath, what lights and what shades,
Burst full on the eye altogether!
Sometimes a dark hollow the bright beam pervades,
And sometimes it rests on the heather.
Burst full on the eye altogether!
Sometimes a dark hollow the bright beam pervades,
And sometimes it rests on the heather.
The highlander points where the silent Diune Shie
Dwells in glory by cascade or fountain,
And often, methought, 'twould be rapture to see,
And converse with these sons of the mountain.
Dwells in glory by cascade or fountain,
And often, methought, 'twould be rapture to see,
And converse with these sons of the mountain.
O! lovely at midnight, when breezes are balm,
To list to the cataract falling,
Or to hear the wild swan, when all round is calm,
Thro' the clouds at long intervals calling.
To list to the cataract falling,
Or to hear the wild swan, when all round is calm,
Thro' the clouds at long intervals calling.
96
Wrapt up in my plaid on the top of Craigmore,
Enraptured I've marked Strath and river:
Viewed the calm waveless loch, when the moon-beams hung o'er,
And thought I could gaze there for ever.
Enraptured I've marked Strath and river:
Viewed the calm waveless loch, when the moon-beams hung o'er,
And thought I could gaze there for ever.
O! lovely in moon-light is sweet Aberfoyle,
By the calm loch, the cascade or fountain,
Or wandering alone, when the bright beam, meanwhile,
Is asleep on the side of the mountain.
By the calm loch, the cascade or fountain,
Or wandering alone, when the bright beam, meanwhile,
Is asleep on the side of the mountain.
In that last human effort, the combat of death,
Ere the dark cloud before mine eyes gather,
'Twill add one pulse more, when I think on my strath,
That gem in the midst of the Heather.
Ere the dark cloud before mine eyes gather,
'Twill add one pulse more, when I think on my strath,
That gem in the midst of the Heather.
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