Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Scotland: Vols. VI–VIII. 1876–79.
The River Cayla
By Thomas Pringle (17891834)
C
I hear thy mountain melody:
It comes with long-forgotten dreams
Once cherished by thy wizard streams;
And sings of school-boy rambles free,
And heart-felt young hilarity!
I see the mouldering turrets hoar
Dim-gleaming on thy woodland shore,
Where oft, afar from vulgar eye,
I loved at summer tide to lie;
Abandoned to the witching sway
Of some old bard’s heroic lay;
Or poring o’er the immortal story
Of Roman and of Grecian glory.
But chief, when summer twilight mild
Drew her dim curtain o’er the wild,
I loved beside that ruin gray
To watch the dying gleam of day.
And though, perchance, with secret dread,
I heard the bat flit round my head,
While winds that waved the long lank grass
With sound unearthly seemed to pass,
Yet with a pleasing horror fell
Upon my heart the thrilling spell;
For all that met the eye or ear
Was still so pure and peaceful here,
I deemed no evil might intrude
Within the saintly solitude.
Still vivid memory can recall
The figure of each shattered wall;
The aged trees, all hoar with moss,
Low-bending o’er the circling fosse;
The rushing of the mountain flood;
The cushats cooing in the wood;
The rooks that o’er the turrets sail;
The lonely curlew’s distant wail;
The flocks that high on Hounam rest;
The glories of the glowing west.