A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and O,
The difference to me!
THE PRETTY GIRL OF LOCH DAN.
THE shades of eve had crossed the glen
That frowns o'er infant Avonmore, When, nigh Loch Dan, two weary men,
We stopped before a cottage door. "God save all here," my comrade cries, And rattles on the raised latch-pin; "God save you kindly,” quick replies A clear sweet voice, and asks us in.
We enter; from the wheel she starts,
A rosy girl with soft black eyes : Her fluttering courtesy takes our hearts, Her blushing grace and pleased surprise.
Poor Mary, she was quite alone,
For, all the way to Glenmalure, Her mother had that morning gone, And left the house in charge with her.
But neither household cares, nor yet
The shame that startled virgins feel, Could make the generous girl forget Her wonted hospitable zeal.
She brought us in a beechen bowl
Sweet milk that smacked of mountain thyme, Oat cake, and such a yellow roll
Of butter, it gilds all my rhyme ! And, while we ate the grateful food (With weary limbs on bench reclined), Considerate and discreet, she stood Apart, and listened to the wind.
Kind wishes both our souls engaged,
From breast to breast spontaneous ran The mutual thought, we stood and pledged THE MODEST ROSE ABOVE LOCH DAN.
"The milk we drink is not more pure,
Sweet Mary, bless those budding charms!Than your own generous heart, I'm sure,
Nor whiter than the breast it warms!"
She turned and gazed, unused to hear Such language in that homely glen;
AT INVERSNEYDE, UPON LOCH LOMOND.
SWEET Highland Girl, a very shower Of beauty is thy earthly dower ! Twice seven consenting years have shed Their utmost bounty on thy head; And these gray rocks, this household lawn, These trees, — a veil just half withdrawn, This fall of water that doth make A murmur near the silent lake, This little bay, a quiet road That holds in shelter thy abode ; In truth together ye do seem Like something fashioned in a dream, Such forms as from their covert peep When earthly cares are laid asleep! But O fair Creature! in the light Of common day so heavenly bright, I bless thee, Vision as thou art, I bless thee with a human heart : God shield thee to thy latest years! I neither know thee nor thy peers; And yet my eyes are filled with tears.
With earnest feeling I shall pray For thee when I am far away;
For never saw I mien or face
In which more plainly I could trace Benignity and home-bred sense Ripening in perfect innocence. Here scattered like a random seed, Remote from men, thou dost not need The embarrassed look of shy distress, And maidenly shamefacedness : Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear The freedom of a mountaineer; A face with gladness overspread, Soft smiles, by human kindness bred; And seemliness complete, that sways Thy courtesies, about thee plays; With no restraint, but such as springs From quick and eager visitings Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach Of thy few words of English speech, A bondage sweetly brooked, a strife That gives thy gestures grace and life! So have I, not unmoved in mind, Seen birds of tempest-loving kind, Thus beating up against the wind.
What hand but would a garland cull For thee who art so beautiful? O happy pleasure! here to dwell Beside thee in some heathy dell; Adopt your homely ways and dress, A shepherd, thou a shepherdess ! But I could frame a wish for thee More like a grave reality: Thou art to me but as a wave
Of the wild sea; and I would have Some claim upon thee, if I could, Though but of common neighborhood. What joy to hear thee, and to see! Thy elder brother I would be, Thy father, - anything to thee.
Now thanks to Heaven! that of its grace Hath led me to this lonely place; Joy have I had; and going hence I bear away my recompense. In spots like these it is we prize Our Memory, feel that she hath eyes : Then why should I be loath to stir ? I feel this place was made for her; To give new pleasure like the past, Continued long as life shall last. Nor am I loath, though pleased at heart, Sweet Highland Girl! from thee to part; For 1, methinks, till I grow old As fair before me shall behold
As I do now, the cabin small, The lake, the bay, the waterfall; And thee, the spirit of them all!
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
"Whom the gods love die young," was said of Besides, they always smell of bread and butter.
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