28.10.2007, 15:44
HIGHLAND SOLITUDE.
IN the lone glen the silver lake doth sleep ;
Sleeps the white cloud upon the sheer black hill ;
All moorland sounds a solemn silence keep ;
I only hear the tiny trickling rill
'Neath the red moss. Athwart the dim grey pall
That veils the day a dusky fowl may fly ;
But on this bleak brown moor, if thou shalt call
For men, a spirit will sooner make reply.
Come hither thou whose agile talk doth flit
From theme to theme, and tempt the pensive mood ;
Converse, with men makes sharp the glittering wit,
But God to man doth speak in solitude.
Come, sit thee down upon this old grey stone ;
Men learn to think, and feel, and pray, alone.
IN the lone glen the silver lake doth sleep ;
Sleeps the white cloud upon the sheer black hill ;
All moorland sounds a solemn silence keep ;
I only hear the tiny trickling rill
'Neath the red moss. Athwart the dim grey pall
That veils the day a dusky fowl may fly ;
But on this bleak brown moor, if thou shalt call
For men, a spirit will sooner make reply.
Come hither thou whose agile talk doth flit
From theme to theme, and tempt the pensive mood ;
Converse, with men makes sharp the glittering wit,
But God to man doth speak in solitude.
Come, sit thee down upon this old grey stone ;
Men learn to think, and feel, and pray, alone.