Thy kirk-yard wall among the trees,
Where, grey with age, the dial stands;
That dial so well-known to me!
many a shadow it had shed,
Beloved Sister, since with thee
The legend on the stone was read.
The fairy-isles fled far away;
That with its woods and uplands green,
Where shepherd-huts are dimly seen,
And songs are heard at close of day;
That too, the deer's wild covert, fled,
And that, the asylum of the dead:
While, as the boat went merrily,
Much of Rob Roy the boat-man told;
His arm that fell below his knee,
His cattle-ford and mountain-hold.
Tarbat, * thy shore I climbed at last;
And, thy shady region passed,
Upon another shore I stood,
And looked upon another flood; +
Great Ocean's self! ("Tis He who fills
That vast and awful depth of hills ;)
Where many an elf was playing round,
Who treads unshod his classic ground;
And speaks, his native rocks among,
As FINGAL spoke, and Ossian sung.
* Siguifying in the Gaelic language an Isthmus. + Loch-Long