 | Lays of the Highlands and Islands |  |
155
PERTHSHIRE.
LOCH RANNOCH.
O'er lone Loch Rannoch's clear far-stretching floodWith gentlest curl the Sabbath breezes creep;
No sound disturbs thy contemplative mood,
Save the meek cry of the far-bleating sheep,
And the low hum of distant waterfall.
Here, on these voiceless banks, if thou can'st keep
Pure Sabbath for thyself, and wisely reap
Harvest of native thought, without the call
Of fervid preacher, I forbid thee not;
God dwelleth not in temples made with hands,
Nor chains His presence to one charmed spot.
But they are wise who kneel in brothered bands
At hallowed stations: where their fathers trod,
Fools will despise the beaten way to God.
156
LOCH RANNOCH MOOR.
In the lone glen the silver lake doth sleep;Sleeps the white cloud upon the sheer black hill:
All moorland sounds a solemn silence keep;
I only hear the tiny trickling rill
'Neath the red moss. Athwart the dim grey pall,
That veils the day, a dusky fowl may fly;
But, on this bleak brown moor, if thou shalt call
For men, a spirit will sooner make reply.
Come hither, thou whose agile tongue doth flit
From theme to theme with change of wordy war,
Converse with men makes sharp the glittering wit,
But Wisdom whispers truth, when crowds are far.
Come, sit thee down upon this old grey stone;
Men learn to think, and feel, and pray, alone.
157
AT LOCH ERICHT.
I.
No railways here!—thank Heaven at length I'm freeFrom travelling Cockneys, wondering at a hill,
From lisping dames, who from the city flee,
To nurse feigned raptures at a tumbling rill!
From huge hotels and grandly-garnished inns,
With all things but true kindness in their plan,
And from sleek waiters, whose obsequious grins
Do make me loathe the very face of man!
Smooth modern age, which no rough line doth mar,
All men must praise thy very decent law!
But in this bothie I am happier far,
Where I must feed on oats, and sleep on straw.
For why?—here men look forth from honest faces,
And are what thing they seem, without grimaces.
158
II.
O heavens! a lovelier day ne'er shone uponThe gleaming beauty of the long-drawn flood!
Come hither, if Scotland boasts a loyal son,
And nurse the holy patriotic mood!
These crags that sink precipitous to the waves,
These floods that gush down the sheer-breasted hill,
They were not made to train soft fashion's slaves,
And to nice modes to trim the pliant will.
A strong rude heart once burned in Scottish men,
And Scotland showed her stamp upon her sons;
The mountain-nursling all might surely ken;
But now through all one English smoothness runs;
Men cut their manners, as their clothes, by rule,
But none grows strong in Nature's breezy school.
159
A SONG OF BEN LEDI.
Come, sit on Ledi's old grey peak,
And sing a song with me,
Where the wild bird whirrs o'er the mosses bleak,
And the wild wind whistles free!
'Tis sweet to lie on the tufted down,
Low low in the gowany glen;
But proud is the foot that stands on the crown
Of the glorious Ledi Ben.
And sing a song with me,
Where the wild bird whirrs o'er the mosses bleak,
And the wild wind whistles free!
'Tis sweet to lie on the tufted down,
Low low in the gowany glen;
But proud is the foot that stands on the crown
Of the glorious Ledi Ben.
Come hither, ye townsmen, soot-besoiled,
Who cower in dingy nooks,
On whom no ray of the sun hath smiled,
To shame your sombre looks.
Come, closely mewed in steaming lanes,
Whom musty chambers pen,
And look abroad on the world of God
From the top of this glorious Ben!
Who cower in dingy nooks,
On whom no ray of the sun hath smiled,
To shame your sombre looks.
Come, closely mewed in steaming lanes,
Whom musty chambers pen,
And look abroad on the world of God
From the top of this glorious Ben!
160
Come ye who sit with moody pains,
And curious-peering looks,
Clogging the veins of your laden brains
With the dust of your maundering books.
Not in your own dim groping souls,
Nor in words of babbling men,
But here His wonders God unrolls—
On the peak of the Ledi Ben.
And curious-peering looks,
Clogging the veins of your laden brains
With the dust of your maundering books.
Not in your own dim groping souls,
Nor in words of babbling men,
But here His wonders God unrolls—
On the peak of the Ledi Ben.
Look forth on these far-stretching rows
Of huge-ridged mountains high;
There God his living Epos shows
Of powers that never die.
Far north, far west, each glowing crest
Thy sateless view may ken,
Where proudly they stand to rampart the land,
With this glorious Ledi Ben.
Of huge-ridged mountains high;
There God his living Epos shows
Of powers that never die.
Far north, far west, each glowing crest
Thy sateless view may ken,
Where proudly they stand to rampart the land,
With this glorious Ledi Ben.
And lo! where eastward, far beneath,
The broad and leafy plain
Spreads on the banks of silvery Teith
Stout labour's fair domain;
The smoke from the long white-glancing town,
The loch that gleams in the glen,
All rush to thine eye when castled high
On this glorious Ledi Ben.
The broad and leafy plain
Spreads on the banks of silvery Teith
Stout labour's fair domain;
161
The loch that gleams in the glen,
All rush to thine eye when castled high
On this glorious Ledi Ben.
Come, sit with me, ye sons of the free,
Join hearty hand to hand,
And claim your part in the iron heart
Of the Grampian-girded land!
Soft lands of the South on rosy beds
May cradle smoother men,
But the Northern knows his strength when he treads
The heath of the old grey Ben.
Join hearty hand to hand,
And claim your part in the iron heart
Of the Grampian-girded land!
Soft lands of the South on rosy beds
May cradle smoother men,
But the Northern knows his strength when he treads
The heath of the old grey Ben.
Come, sit with me and praise with glee,
On the peak of this granite Ben,
The brave old land, where the stream leaps free
Down the rifts of the sounding glen.
Land of strong hands and glowing hearts,
And mother of stalwart men,
Who nurse free thoughts where the wild breeze floats
On the peak of the Ledi Ben.
On the peak of this granite Ben,
The brave old land, where the stream leaps free
Down the rifts of the sounding glen.
Land of strong hands and glowing hearts,
And mother of stalwart men,
Who nurse free thoughts where the wild breeze floats
On the peak of the Ledi Ben.
| Lays of the Highlands and Islands | |