On a fair summer morn when the sun did adorn
The top of Glengaber, Glencrieve, and Glenglass,
I wandered away to the hill and the brae,
At the footstool of Nature a few hours to pass.
As I climbed the steep hill by the pure little rill
That trills its sweet song 'mid the heather and thyme
My memory swept back on its well-beaten track
To the days of my boyhood and friends of langsyne.
From the head of Glendyne I kept a straight line
As far as the rock where the fox makes his den,
Where the hill of the bloody bell stands like a sentinel
Guarding the pass to the bonnie Monk's Glen.
Nowhere I have been is such wild beauty seen
As that from the spot where I then took my stand;
It must stir the cold heart, inspiration impart,
These marvellous works of the Almighty hand.
Where is the pen 'mongst the learned of men
That could to the mind's eye its beauties array?
Where is the hand the brush could command
Its splendours so solemn and wild to pourtray?
Freedom from strife and the cares of this life
I find in this solitude has its abode;
The soul it is free as the soul ought to be
To commune with Nature and worship its God.