LOCH AWE. [(3)]
Oh Lake! how gentle and how fair art thou,
Above thee and around thee, mountains rise
E'en like a diadem on queenly brow;
Crested in light the snow in masses lies
On Cruachan's cleft head—the eagle flies
In circles o'er thee, and his eyrie makes
Afar upon its summit, from the eyes
Of man removed, for his wild fledgelings' sakes.—