Danc’d to the murmuring rill on Lomond’s wave,
Or sighed for thy sweet presence some dark night
When thou wert hidden in thy monthly grave,[357]
If e’er on wings which active fancy gave 5
I sought thy golden vale with dancing flight
Then stretcht at ease in some sequestered cave
Gaz’d on thy lovely Nymphs with fond delight,
Thy Nymphs with more than earthly beauty bright,
If e’er thy beam, as Smyrna’s shepherds tell, 10
Soft as the gentle kiss of amorous maid