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134
BY LOCHLEVEN.
I lie within the old pineshade beside the mimic main,
And all day long the laughing sound of the lake is in my brain,
But in the gusts that come, and go, and leave the pinetrees sleeping,
I hear the tones of something sad amid the sunshine weeping.
And all day long the laughing sound of the lake is in my brain,
But in the gusts that come, and go, and leave the pinetrees sleeping,
I hear the tones of something sad amid the sunshine weeping.
Between me and Benarty slopes the sparkling waters lie,
Bright as the sheeny sun above, blue as the bending sky,
But near the willows now and then I spy a shadow sailing,
And hear the tones of something sad amid the sunshine wailing.
Bright as the sheeny sun above, blue as the bending sky,
But near the willows now and then I spy a shadow sailing,
And hear the tones of something sad amid the sunshine wailing.
The cushat in the cool recess intones his croodendoo,
The snow-white seagull in the sun is sporting in my view,
But in the segs along the lake, like sounds for ever dying,
I hear the tones of something sad amid the sunshine sighing.
The snow-white seagull in the sun is sporting in my view,
But in the segs along the lake, like sounds for ever dying,
I hear the tones of something sad amid the sunshine sighing.
I hear the cheerful twitter of the songbird in its nest,
And hither and yon'the hum of bees in summer's bounty blest,
But in the knot-grass at my feet, too plain for misbelieving,
I hear the tones of something sad amid the sunshine grieving.
And hither and yon'the hum of bees in summer's bounty blest,
135
I hear the tones of something sad amid the sunshine grieving.
The dimpling of the limpid lake into unnumbered smiles,
The grandeur of the solemn hills, the glory of the isles,—
O, Earth were paradise at times but that from lea and loaning
There come the tones of something sad amid the sunshine moaning.
The grandeur of the solemn hills, the glory of the isles,—
O, Earth were paradise at times but that from lea and loaning
There come the tones of something sad amid the sunshine moaning.
Now who will tell me what it is that, when I would be glad,
Comes stealing through the summer air and makes my spirit sad,
And why, ere Autumn winds are out and Autumn suns are failing,
I hear the tones of something sad amid the sunshine wailing?
Comes stealing through the summer air and makes my spirit sad,
And why, ere Autumn winds are out and Autumn suns are failing,
I hear the tones of something sad amid the sunshine wailing?
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