O that I were the shaw in,[130]
When Morag was there,
Lots to be drawing
For the prize of the fair!
Mingling in your glee,
Merry maidens! We
Rolicking would be
The flow'rets along;
Time would pass away
In the oblivion of our play,
As we cropp'd the primrose gay,
The rock-clefts among;
Then in mock we 'd fight,
Then we 'd take to flight,
Then we 'd lose us quite,
Where the cliffs overhung.
Like the dew-drop blue
In the mist of morn
So thine eye, and thy hue
Put the blossom to scorn.
All beauties they shower
On thy person their dower;
Above is the flower,
Beneath is the stem;
'Tis a sun 'mid the gleamers,
'Tis a star 'mid the streamers,
'Mid the flower-buds it shimmers
The foremost of them!
Darkens eye-sight at thy ray!
As we wonder, still we say
Can it be a thing of clay
We see in that gem?
Since thy first feature
Sparkled before me,
Fair! not a creature
Was like thy glory.[131]....
[130] We must suppose some sylvan social occupation, as oak-peeling or
the like, in which Morag and her associates had been employed.
[131] Here follows a catalogue of rival beauties, with satirical
descriptions. Cowley has such a list, which may possibly have been in
the poet's eye.