Upon the Ettrick Shepherd’s grave.
But not of him they speak, nor draw
My thoughts back to that early time
When, rapt in that one dream, he saw
The shadows lift from fairy clime.
Nor yet of Ettrick, as it goes
To join the Yarrow’s haunting tone,
That each may murmur as it flows
A music something like his own.
Nor even of Saint Mary’s Lake,