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STRANGER ! if e'er thine ardent step hath traced
The northern realms of ancient Caledon, Where the proud Queen of Wilderness hath placed,
By lake and cataract, her lonely throne ;* Sublime but sad delight thy soul bath known,
Gazing on pathless glen and mountain high, Listing where from the cliffs the torrents thrown!
Mingle their echoes with the eagle's cry, And with the sounding lake, and with the moaning sky. Yes! 'twas sublime, but sad.-The loneliness
Loaded thy heart, the desert tired thine eye; And strange and awful fears began to press
Thy bosom with a stern solemnity. Then hast thou wish'd some woodman's cottage nigh,
Something that show'd of life, though low and mean; Glad sight, its curling wreath of smoke to spy,
Glad sound, its cock’s blithe carol would have been,
Or children whooping wild beneath the willows green.
Such are the scenes, where savage grandeur wakes
An awful thrill that softens into sighs;
In dark Glencoe such gloomy raptures rise :
Chides wild Loch-Eribol his caverns hoar-
Of desert dignity to that dread shore,