“Binnorie, O Binnorie”
BEAR me, O Lake Queen, along the keen grey and blue surface of Loch Tay, between the unfrequented domes of the hills beneath skies which regale me with rain and sun; bear me, trim vessel, along the glistening silk of Lake Tay.
Bear me, red post-chaise, through the greenest of green valleys, through a valley of gnarled trees, through a valley with a foaming river, through a valley of shaggy sheep, through a glen of Nordic abundance. Wait, silvery aspen, move not, wavy oak-tree standing astraddle, black pine-thicket and lush alder; wait, wild-eyed maiden.
But no; bear me, hissing train, northward, northward, among those dark mountains. Blue and dark mountains above green domes; valleys of russet cows, light and dark green, I
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