Уильям Лайл Боулз (William Lisle Bowles)

Sonnet 7. At a Village in Scotland

O North! as thy romantick vales I leave,
And bid farewell to each retiring hill,
Where thoughtful fancy seems to linger still,
Tracing the broad bright landscape; much I grieve
That mingled with the toiling croud, no more
I shall return, your varied views to mark,
Of rocks amid the sunshine tow'ring dark,
Of rivers winding wild, and mountains hoar,
Or castle gleaming on the distant steep.
Yet not the less I pray our charms may last,
And many a soften'd image of the past
Pensive combine; and bid remembrance keep
To cheer me with the thought of pleasure flown,
When I am wand'ring on my way alone.

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