XX.
THE ISLANDS OF THE NESS.
A fairyland of trees and leafy bowers
Where one may sit and dream the hours away,
Or 'mid the devious walks and alleys stray,
While perfume rises from a world of flowers,
The girdling river, swollen with upland showers,
Sends rippling round to every creek and bay
The vagrant branches of his water-way;
Then gathering up his current's parted powers,
Swiftly-majestic in a broadening bed,
He glistens on by many a chiming spire,
And past the castle's pennoned turrets red,
Till he attain the goal of his desire,
And into the salt sea exulting throws
His subsidy of rains and melted snows.
XXI.
AMERICAN TOURIST LOQUITUR
(AT BERRIEDALE, CAITHNESS).
If I had wealth like Vanderbilt
Or some such millionaire,
I'd live in Scotland, don a kilt,
And pay to prove my forbears spilt
Their blood in forays there.
I'd buy a picturesque estate
Beside the ocean's flow,
With knolls of heather at my gate,
And pine-clad hills to dominate,
The ferny dells below.
I'd be a father to the folk
That laboured on the soil,
With old and young I'd crack my joke,
Drink with them in their thirst, and smoke
The pipe that lightens toil.
For hens I'd have a special run,
For ducks a special pool,
My calves should frolic in the sun,
My sheep should be surpassed by none
Whose backs are clothed with wool.
Although I'm not a Walton quite,
Betweenwhiles I should try
To lure the finny tribe to bite
(At the right time, in the right light,)
My simulated fly.