  Prologue Full often I strolled by the brink of the river, On the greensward soaked by the heavy dew, Skirting the woods in the bays of the mountains, No care in my heart, while the day was new. My soul would light up when I saw Loch GrÉine Lie blue on the breast of the landscape green, The heaven's expanse o'er the ring of the mountains, Peak beckoning to peak o'er the ridges between. Ah, well might the weakling, the sport of misfortune, Spent of his vigour, embittered with pain, His birthright wasted, his pockets empty, Gaze long on that scene and take heart again. On its mistless bosom the wild duck settled, Two followed by two rode the stately swan, In wanton gladness the perch leaped upward, Ruddy their scales when the bright sun shone! In ripples swept circling in to the shore; Strange is its change in the winter quarter, Its thunderous crash, its hollow roar. Bright birds in the trees make a melody mirthful, The doe bounds down, the hunt flashes by, I hear the shrill horns, they are close upon me! Brave Reynard in front, and the hounds in full cry! RELIGIOUS POEMS OF THE PEOPLE |
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