THE SPIRIT OF GLENCROE. 109 



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 ! 



Once more this thrilling call I heard, 



As far I climb'd the misty hill; 

 Then past me flew a little bird, 



With that same note so wild and shrill ! 



Spirit I deem'd it long, and still, 

 With its white breast and airy form, 



It sat like spirit of the hill, 



Above the cloud, and mist, and storm ! 



There is a stone which marks Glencroe, 

 To weary travelers known the best ; 



It bids them, ere they further go, 

 Tarry awhile by Lochan-Rest. 





