And half I envy him who now,
Clothed in her Court's enchanted green,
By moonlit loch or mountain's brow
Is Chaplain to the Fairy Queen.
TO ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
WITH KIRK'S 'SECRET COMMONWEALTH'
O Louis! you that like them maist,
Ye're far frae kelpie, wraith, and ghaist,
And fairy dames, no unco chaste,
And haunted cell.
Among a heathen clan ye're placed,
That kensna hell!
Ye hae nae heather, peat, nor birks,
Nae trout in a' yer burnies lurks,
There are nae bonny U.P. kirks,
An awfu' place!
Nane kens the Covenant o' Works
Frae that o' Grace!
But whiles, maybe, to them ye'll read
Blads o' the Covenanting creed,
And whiles their pagan wames ye'll feed
On halesome parritch;
And syne ye'll gar them learn a screed
O' the Shorter Carritch.
Yet thae uncovenanted shavers
Hae rowth, ye say, o' clash and clavers
O' gods and etins--auld wives' havers,
But their delight;
The voice o' him that tells them quavers
Just wi' fair fright.
And ye might tell, ayont the faem,
Thae Hieland clashes o' our hame
To speak the truth, I takna shame
To half believe them;
And, stamped wi' Tusitala's name,
They'll a' receive them.
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