Echoes From the Highland Hills

e pale moon sitting in Crescent car. Sweetheart, thy thought, In the soul inwrought, As sinks in gloom the red-orbed sun, While out of the dark The shimmering spark Awaits to embrace the white faced moon. Where crimson glows, On the umber floes, And hills are ablaze with saffron warm, As Druid's blood, In terraced wood, The dun west scatters its magic charm. The Dorian maid, In the gathering shade, With veil all yellow and silver beam, Like elfin sprite, Reflects a light, Cold as the ice, or a vestal's dream, The zephyrs sigh, As the robes trail by, Of sad-eyed night, in the pulseless main, While belted Mars, 'Mid sentinel stars His first watch keeps o'er the distant plain. If seraphs be On this sparkling sea, And, fluttering, wing the weird expanse, Does Love have birth So far from earth, And pierce the ether with his shining lance?V. Sweetheart, this land, Where the fairies stand On the velvet dale and peaceful shore, With jeweled crests, By the Genii's nests, Is the mystic spot of childhood's lore. In frolic grace, Through azure space, The elves will tempt our vain desires; As spectres grim, Near forests dim, Decoy to ruin with phantom fires. On burnished steep, As they vigils keep, The crown'd Gnomes muster in helmet sheen ; But thy sweet smile, Thy charms beguile My sense from all this radiant scene. 'Twas witchcraft sips, ...