He must stretch afar, who would reach a star,
Dive deep for the pearl, I trow:
And the fairest rose that in Scotland blows
Hangs high on the topmost bough.
‘The stream of the strath runs broad and strong,
But sweeter the mountain rill;
And those who would drink with the fairy throng,
Must climb to the crest of the hill.
For the moon-lit ring of the Elfin-king
Is danced on the steepest knowe,