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And these gray Rocks; this household Lawn; These Trees, a veil just half withdrawn; This fall of water, that doth make A murmur near the silent Lake;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 fashion'd in a dream;
Such Forms as from their covert peep When earthly cares are laid asleep! Yet, dream and 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 fill'd 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, scatter'd like a random seed, Remote from men, Thou dost not need The embarrass'd look of shy distress,
And maidenly shamefacedness: Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear The freedom of a Mountaineer. A face with gladness overspread!
Sweet looks, 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 brook'd, a strife
That gives thy gestures grace and life! So have I, not unmov'd 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 neighbourhood.
What joy to hear thee, and to see! Thy elder Brother I would be, Thy Father, any thing 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 recompence. In spots like these it is we prize
Our Memory, feel that she hath eyes: Then, why should I be loth 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 loth, though pleased at heart, Sweet Highland Girl! from Thee to part; For I, 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!
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