(At Inversneyde, upon Loch Lomond)

Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower 
Of beauty is thy earthly dower! 
Twice seven consenting years have shed 
Their utmost bounty on thy head: 
And these grey rocks; that household lawn; 
Those trees, a veil just half withdrawn; 
This fall of water that doth make 
A murmur near the silent lake; 
This little bay; a quiet road 
That holds in shelter thy Abode— 
In truth together do ye seem 
Like something fashioned in a dream; 
Such Forms as from their covert peep 
When earthly cares are laid asleep! 
But, O fair Creature! in the light 
Of common day, so heavenly bright, 
I bless Thee, Vision as thou art, 
I bless thee with a human heart; 
God shield thee to thy latest years! 
Thee, neither know I, nor thy peers; 
And yet my eyes are filled with tears. 

With earnest feeling I shall pray 
For thee when I am far away: 
For never saw I mien, or face, 
In which more plainly I could trace 
Benignity and home-bred sense 
Ripening in perfect innocence. 
Here scattered, like a random seed, 
Remote from men, Thou dost not need 
The embarrassed look of shy distress, 
And maidenly shamefacedness: 
Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear 
The freedom of a Mountaineer: 
A face with gladness overspread! 
Soft smiles, by human kindness bred! 
And seemliness complete, that sways 
Thy courtesies, about thee plays; 
With no restraint, but such as springs 
From quick and eager visitings 
Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach 
Of thy few words of English speech: 
A bondage sweetly brooked, a strife 
That gives thy gestures grace and life! 
So have I, not unmoved in mind, 
Seen birds of tempest-loving kind— 
Thus beating up against the wind. 

What hand but would a garland cull 
For thee who art so beautiful? 
O happy pleasure! here to dwell 
Beside thee in some heathy dell; 
Adopt your homely ways, and dress, 
A Shepherd, thou a Shepherdess! 
But I could frame a wish for thee 
More like a grave reality: 
Thou art to me but as a wave 
Of the wild sea; and I would have 
Some claim upon thee, if I could, 
Though but of common neighbourhood. 
What joy to hear thee, and to see! 
Thy elder Brother I would be, 
Thy Father—anything to thee! 

Now thanks to Heaven! that of its grace 
Hath led me to this lonely place. 
Joy have I had; and going hence 
I bear away my recompense. 
In spots like these it is we prize 
Our Memory, feel that she hath eyes: 
Then, why should I be loth to stir? 
I feel this place was made for her; 
To give new pleasure like the past, 
Continued long as life shall last. 
Nor am I loth, though pleased at heart, 
Sweet Highland Girl! from thee to part; 
For I, methinks, till I grow old, 
As fair before me shall behold, 
As I do now, the cabin small, 
The lake, the bay, the waterfall; 
And thee, the spirit of them all!


 = Julian Lopez Morillas