THE SPIRIT OF GLENCROE. 309 



The little incident mentioned above gave rise to the 

 following stanzas, which I may be excused for inserting : 



THE heather-bell was blooming fair, 



And gaily waved the yellow broom, 

 And many a wild-flower bright and rare 



Lent to the breeze its choice perfume. 



But lonely, lonely was the scene, 



Grim rose the heights of dark Glencroe, 



And, though the sunbeam smiled between, 

 They scarce returned a kindlier glow. 



Above me frowned the jutting rock, 



The wimpling burn beside me played ; 

 Around me stared the mountain flock, 



And asked " Who dared their rights invade ?" 



A whistle strikes my startled ear ! 



A pipe of shrillest, wildest tone ; 

 But human footstep, far or near, 



None could I see I stood alone ! 



Still and anon, with every breeze, 



I caught that sound so strangely wild ; 

 And who may tell what visions please 



The wayward mood of Fancy's child ! 



Oft I returned, when skies were fair, 



To ply my fisher's task below, 

 And long the viewless tenant there 



I named the Spirit of Glencroe ! 



