To the hill-tops boundeth my soul away;

I see the slug-hound tall and gaunt,
Which follow'd me, early and late, so true;
The hills, which it was my delight to haunt,
And the rocks, which rang to my loud halloo.

I see Scoir Eild by the side of the glen,
Where the cuckoo calleth so blithe in May,
And Gorval of pines, renown'd 'mongst men
For the elk and the roe which bound and play.

I see the cave, which receiv'd our feet
So kindly oft from the gloom of night,
Where the blazing tree with its genial heat
Within our bosoms awak'd delight.

On the flesh of the deer we fed our fill--
Our drink was the Treigh, our music its wave;
Though the ghost shriek'd shrill, and bellow'd the hill,
'Twas pleasant, I trow, in that lonely cave.

I see Benn Ard of form so fair,
Of a thousand hills the Monarch proud;
On his side the wild deer make their lair,
His head's the eternal couch of the cloud.

But vision of joy, and art thou flown?
Return for a moment's space, I pray,--
Thou dost not hear--ohone, ohone--