GLENORCHY
TALK not to me of Tempe's flowery vale,
With fair Glenorchy stretched before my view!
If of its charms he sung, I would right well
Believe the Grecian poet's picture true.
What were his boasted groves in scent and hue
To lady-birches and the stately pine,
The crimsoned heather and the hare-bell blue?
Be his the laurel—the red heath be mine!
No faun nor dryad here I care to see,
More pleased by far to mark the bounding roe
Sport with his mate behind the forest tree;
Nor less the joy when in the glen below
Some milking Hebe sings her luinneag free,
All hearts enchanting by its graceful glow.