II A Scottish Sabbath Day
“On this day Men consecrate their souls, As did their fathers.”
And ah! the sacred morns that crowned the week—
The path betwixt the mountains and the sea,
The Sannox water and the wooden bridge,
The little church, the narrow seats—and we
That through the open window saw the ridge
Of Fergus, and the peak
Of utmost Cior Mohr—nor held it wrong,
When vext with platitude and stirless air,
To watch the mist-wreaths clothe the rock-scarps bare
And in the pauses hear the blackbird’s song.
“Memory Harvest.”