Her matchless Rants, and Lilts and Reels Yet most of all, bewitching elf! Loves, long since laid on memory's shelf, Again revive in me; Maidens as lovely as thyself In laughing groups I see.— Now, at "the milking o' the fauld," Paints each dear charmer, charming still. Well might a bard be proud to please Sing best whene'er they sing their praise,— Might make the coldest lover there Less lover than idolator! Long may old Scotia's sons rejoice The bright epitome in thee! SONNETS DESCRIPTIVE OF THE SCENERY OF LOCH-AWE, ARGYLESHIRE. I. LOCH-AWE-SEEN FROM CROIS-AN-T-SLEUCHDAIDH. No time nor tide can dim a genuine joy: In thought I wander to that far-off day It spreads its glories. O! but now to be * *Crois-an-t-sleuchdaidh (a term suggestive of Catholic times) is the name of that moorland ridge where the road from Inveraray to Dalmally reaches its highest elevation, and from which the tourist travelling northward, obtains his first view of Loch-Awe-its bosom adorned with many islands of great beauty. Chief among those more immediately in view are Innisfail, famed for its sepulchral crosses; Innis-Druidhnich, with its Druidical circle, and Fraoch-Eilean, no less dissinguished by its stern, old, dilapidated "keep," telling its own tale of times of feud and foray. Here, kingly Cruachan, twin-topped, cleft the sky ; There, tower'd Ben-doran's head above the cloud,— While on the lake's calm breast lay, lovingly, Islets of which Elysium might be proud. When fades that landscape from my memory, Some friendly hand may quick prepare my shroud. II. THE BRANDER PASS. Lo, where the Awe sweeps with resistless force To think what Scotland would have lost that day, Resistless through the thickest of the foe,Leaving Macdougall baffled of his prey!— How few the pilgrims wandering by the flow Of Awe, impetuous, think, as there they stray, How classic is the ground o'er which they go ! III. INNIS-DRUIDHNICH. Fair Innis-drui'nich! though, in this our age, To him who would, in thought the Past explore, By nature sole instructed, here of yore Tow'ring above yon circle of grey stones: IV. KILCHURN CASTLE. Lo! yonder veteran Pile by Urchay's flow- Nodding to thy own spectre in the tide. Thy sole friend seems the ivy spreading wide A lonely tenant, safe from all alarm ; While through thy halls, where beauty once enjoyed The minstrel's song, oft howls the midnight storm. V. FRAOCH-EILEAN. Fraoch's lonely isle! if of a hermit life I were enamoured, 'tis on thee I'd dwell, Where all around, afar or near, seems rife With grace and grandeur more than tongue can tell. True inspiration, 'twould, methinks, be here,— VI. GLENORCHY. Talk not to me of Tempe's flowery vale, With fair Glenorchy stretched before my view! The crimsoned heather and the hare-bell blue ? Be his the laurel-the red heath be mine! |