THE LORD OF THE ISLES. CANTO FOURTH. STRANGER! if e'er thine ardent step hath traced Where the proud Queen of Wilderness hath placed, Listing where from the cliffs the torrents thrown 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 Such feelings rouse them by dim Rannoch's lakes, Of desert dignity to that dread shore, That sees grim Coolin rise, and hears Corisken roar. |