John Stuart Blackie

Loch Ericht

THE LAKE is smooth; the air is soft and still;
The water shines with a broad lambent gleam;
And the white cloud sleeps on the hoary hill,
With the mild glory of a sainted dream.
From the steep crag the distant bleatings come
Of sheep far-straggling o’er the turfy way;
And the harsh torrent, softened to a hum,
Gives murmurous music from the stony brae.
If here on earth a heaven may be, thou hast
Heaven here to-day; now give thy soul repose.
To-morrow, down this glen the ruffian blast
May sweep, while high the enchaféd billow throws
Its surly might, and smites the sounding shore,
And the swollen rills rush down with thunderous roar!