161 
The following lines were written after rather an 
extended tour through the Western Isles and Highlands 
of Scotland. The voyage to Staffa, to which I have 
alluded in the second and sixth stanzas, was made under 
somewhat unfavourable circumstances, the weather 
proving stormy. On our return from it we heard of 
the wreck of the Rothesay Castle. 
We have pierced the lone valley and climb’d the steep 
mountain, 
Where man and his doings were lost to our ken; 
We have threaded the thicket, and traced to its fountain 
The torrent which dash’d through the wild rocky glen. 
We have seen the blue lake both at rest and in motion, 
Now chafe with the tempest, now peacefully sleep; 
We have trusted ourselves on the bosom of ocean, 
And can tell of the perils which frown o’er the deep. 
And now, like a bird, to its loved nest returning, 
That heeds not of meadows and hedgerows the bloom. 
We turn from them all — for each bosom is yearning 
To gain the sweet rest and the shelter of home. 
M 
