Эндрю Джеймс Симингтон (Andrew James Symington)

Kilmaronock

AT Kilmaronock we have loitered long,
In lovely bosky nooks, by murmuring streams;
Where leafy bowers afford a pleasing shade
From sun at noontide; where the air, rich laden
With odors of wild thyme and meadow-sweet,
Is musical with hum of mountain bees,
And insects dancing in the bright sunbeams.
Birds, too, on bush, or in the ferny brake,
Trill joyously their dulcet warblings wild,
Or pipe forth mellow flute-like notes. Sweet-brier,
Wild rose, and scented honeysuckle, form
Our sylvan bower, and gracefully entwine
The rustic bridge.
                These left,—lo! now we gaze
Upon the glittering level of the lake,
Cool, fresh, and crystalline. A little boat
Lies on its brink, and yonder, bearing oars,
The farmer and his lad,—both rowers skilled,
Though they have now been leading in the hay:
Rough hand, but honest heart,—with greeting warm,
The farmer recognizes, hails us friends;
For some of us have known him long and well.
The boat is launched! O joy! we are afloat
Upon Lochlomond’s placid silvery tide!

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