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Have Shed Their Utmost Bounty On Thy Head: And These Grey Rocks; That Household Lawn; Those Trees, A Veil Just Half Withdrawn; This Fall Of Water That Doth Make A Murmur Near The Silent Lake; This Little Bay; A Quiet Road That Holds In Shelter Thy Abode In Truth Together Do Ye Seem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!