The wet rock slide with a trickling gleam A cormorant flaps o'er a sleek ocean floor Ah me! as wearily I tread The winding hill-road mute and slow, The sweetness of that happy dream, O distant ocean, blue and sleek, On which the white sails come and go, Ye look the same; thou sound'st the same, Thou ever-falling, falling stream, Ye are the changeless dial-face And I the passing beam. As adown the long glen I hurried, As I passed the red lake fringed with rushes And before the bright circles and wrinkles At a clear open turn of the roadway My passion went up in a cry, For the wonderful mountain of Blaavin Alexander Smith. Blackford Hill. BLACKFORD HILL. LACKFORD! on whose uncultured breast, BLAC Among the broom, and thorn, and whin, A truant-boy, I sought the nest, Or listed, as I lay at rest, While rose, on breezes thin, The murmur of the city crowd, Saint Giles's mingling din. Now, from the summit to the plain, And o'er the landscape as I look, Of early friendships past and gone. Sir Walter Scott. Bothwell Castle. BOTHWELL CASTLE. PASSED UNSEEN, ON ACCOUNT OF STORMY WEATHER. MMURED in Bothwell's towers, at times the brave IMMU (So beautiful is Clyde) forgot to mourn The liberty they lost at Bannockburn. Once on those steeps I roamed at large, and have Than blame the present, that our wish hath crossed. How little that she cherishes is lost! William Wordsworth. Brackley. GORDON OF BRACKLEY. DOWN Whistling and playing; And called loud at Brackley gate, Ere the day dawing, Come, Gordon of Brackley, Proud Gordon, come down; A sword's at your threshold, Mair sharp than your own." "Arise now, gay Gordon," His lady gan cry; "Look, there is bold Inveraye Driving your kye." "How can I go, ladye, To win them agen? I have but ae sword, "Arise, all my maidens, Had I married a man! Arise, all my maidens, Take buckler and sword; Go milk the ewes, Gordon, And I shall be lord." The Gordon sprang up, Put his helm on his head; Laid his hand on his sword, And his thigh on his steed, And stooped low and said, As he kissed his young dame, "There's a Gordon rides out That will never ride hame." Wi' sword and wi' dagger To the mouth of the Spey, "O, came ye by Brackley, And tearing her hair?" "I came in by Brackley, I came in, and O, There was mirth, there was feasting, But nothing of woe. "As a rose bloomed the lady, And blithe as a bride; Like a bridegroom bold Inveraye Smiled at her side. |