GLENCOE.
247
I must not, on so sweet a night,
Think upon dark Glencoe.
If thought were vengeance, then its thought
A ceaseless fire should be,
Burning by day, burning by night,
Kept like a thought of thee.
But I am powerless and must flee;—
That e'er a time should come,
When we should shun our own sweet land,
And seek another home!
This must not be,—yon soft moonlight
Falls on my heart like balm;
The waves are still, the air is hushed,
And I too will be calm.
