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Lays of the Highlands and Islands

By John Stuart Blackie

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IKING'S HOUSE INN.
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I
KING'S HOUSE INN.

Fair are the trees whose random tresses fling
Rich grace on the green steeps of Ballachulish;
But King's House Inn, though you may deem it foolish,
And its bleak moor, my wilful Muse will sing.
For why? I love the torrent's savage din,
The giant-trailing mist, the snorting Ben,
The wind-swept heath, the long, deer-sheltering glen,
The still black tarn, and far-up-thundering linn.
And here erect with majesty severe
The Buchail More upshoots his Titan cone;
I stand and look and gaze on Him alone,
As if no other mighty Ben were near,
And hear the pewits cry, and the wind blow
Notes of shrill wail up from the steep Glencoe!