Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew;
The tear that gather’d in his eye
He left the mountain breeze to dry;
Until, where Teith’s young waters roll,
Betwixt him and a wooded knoll,
That graced the sable strath with green,
The chapel of St. Bride was seen.
Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge,
But Angus paused not on the edge;
Though the dark waves danced dizzily,