THE LADY WHO LOVES THE HIGHLANDS.
I.
Adventurous men I've known the boldest born
In brawny Britain or in fiery France,
To face the pestilence, scale the Matterhorn,
Or through the battle's iron hail to dance.
But a frail woman with so stout a heart
To brave the billows and explore the glens
I never knew, as she who claims a part
In my small song piped in the land of Bens.
She on the wings of sacred duty flies
With shepherd's care to bless untended flocks;
And, like an angel missioned from the skies,
They greet her coming from the old grey rocks:
Poor island-dwellers by the lonely sea,
Whom all forget but God in heaven and she!
II.
Who loves the Highlands?—many love to shoot
The dun-plumed grouse on the broad-shouldered Ben;
And 'tis a kingly sport will none dispute
To track the red-deer through the treeless glen.
But I know one who loves the Highlands more
Than all who start the grouse or watch the deer,
The first to light on lone unfriended shore
With helping hand, and words of kindly cheer;
A woman, but whom manful purpose mails,
Of English blood, but through the Celtic seas
With torch of truth in venturous skiff she sails
From isle to isle, not studious of her ease.
Brave maid! thee following where Columba trod
The angels know who keep the book of God.
