THE HIGHLAND MAY.
I.
Let the maids of the Lowlands
Vaunt their silks and their Hollands,
In the garb of the Highlands
Oh give me my dear!
Such a figure for grace!
For the Loves such a face!
And for lightness the pace
That the grass shall not stir.
* * * * *
II.
Lips of cherry confine
Teeth of ivory shine,
And with blushes combine
To keep us in thrall.
Thy converse exceeding
All eloquent pleading,
Thy voice never needing
To rival the fall
Of the music of art,—
Steal their way to the heart,
And resistless impart
Their enchantment to all.
III.
When Beltane is over,
And summer joys hover,
With thee a glad rover
I 'll wander along,
Where the harp-strings of nature
Are strung by each creature,
And the sleep shall be sweeter
That lulls to their song,
There, bounding together,
On the lawn of the heather,
And free from the tether,
The heifers shall throng.
IV.
There shall pasture the ewes,
There the spotted goats browse,
And the kids shall arouse
In their madness of play;
They shall butt, they shall fight,
They shall emulate flight,
They shall break with delight
O'er the mountains away.
And there shall my Mary
With her faithful one tarry,
And never be weary
In the hollows to stray.