| |
| 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; that household lawn; | 5 |
| Those trees, a veil just half withdrawn; | |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,— | 10 |
| In truth together do ye 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 | 15 |
| 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! | |
| Thee neither know I, nor thy peers; | 20 |
| 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 | 25 |
| 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, | 30 |
| 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! | 35 |
| 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 | 40 |
| 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 | 45 |
| Thus beating up against the wind. | |
| |
| What hand but would a garland call | |
| For thee who art so beautiful? | |
| O happy pleasure! here to dwell | |
| Beside thee in some heathy dell; | 50 |
| 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 | 55 |
| 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, | 60 |
| 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. | 65 |
| 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, | 70 |
| Continued long as life shall last. | |
| Nor am I loath, though pleased at heart, | |
| Sweet Highland girl! from thee to part; | |
| For I, methinks, till I grow old, | |
| As fair before me shall behold, | 75 |
| As I do now, the cabin small, | |
| The lake, the bay, the waterfall; | |
| And thee, the spirit of them all! | |
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