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.