LOCH AWE. (3)
Oh Lake! how gentle and how fair art thou,
Above thee and around thee, mountains rise
E'en like a diadem on queenly brow;
Crested in light the snow in masses lies
On Cruachan's cleft head—the eagle flies
In circles o'er thee, and his eyrie makes
Afar upon its summit, from the eyes
Of man removed, for his wild fledgelings' sakes.—
Sinless and still thou art, most beautiful of lakes!
Four fairy isles,—like smiles in woman's eye,
Or gems upon her bosom—rise beside
Thy spreading waters, dreamy as the sky,
Whose glories are reflected in thy tide;
While shrubs and flowers are growing in their pride,
And ancient trees, where'er our eyes we turn—
And, like a melody, thy echoes glide
Within the memory—while grey and stern
Stands, like a spirit of the past, lone old Kilchurn.
Changeless as Heaven, thoughtful as the stars,
Whose light thou mak'st thy lover, ever true;
Sweet are thy glades and glens; no discord mars
Their quiet now—as when the Bruce o'erthrew
The men of Lorn, and gained his crown anew—
Save when sweeps by the spirit of the storm;
Fearful and wonderful is then thy hue,
And terrible thy wailings, as thy form,
While Cruachan's wild shriek is heard to far Cairngorm.
Home of the hunter! birth-place of the Gael!
Why do my musings still return to thee?
Why does the hymn of holy Innis-hail,
Like rhyme of childhood, haunt my memory?
My boy-years have departed, since to me
Thy wildness, solitude, and grandeur brought
Sources of inspiration, ne'er to be
Forgotten or forborne—my mind has sought
Relief from homely scenes, recurring to remote.