eagle of the rock.
The huddled warmth of crowds Begets and fosters hate; He keeps, above the clouds, His cliff inviolate.
When flocks are folded warm, And herds to shelter run, He sails above the storm, He stares into the sun.
If in the eagle's track Your sinews cannot leap, Avoid the lathered pack, Turn from the steaming sheep.
If you would keep your soul From spotted sight or sound, Live like the velvet mole; Go burrow underground.
And there hold intercourse With roots of trees and stones, With rivers at their source, And disembodied bones.
MADMAN'S SONG
Better to see your cheek grown hollow, Better to see your temple worn, Than to forget to follow, follow, After the sound of a silver horn.
Better to bind your brow with willow And follow, follow until you die, Than to sleep with your head on a golden pillow, Nor lift it up when the hunt goes by.
Better to see your cheek grown sallow And your hair grown gray, so soon, so soon, Than to forget to hallo, hallo, After the milk-white hounds of the moon.
THE PRINKIN' LEDDIE
_"The Hielan' lassies are a' for spinnin' The Lowlan' lassies for prinkin' and pinnin'; My daddie w'u'd chide me, an' so w'u'd my minnie If I s'u'd bring hame sic a prinkin' leddie."_
Now haud your tongue, ye haverin' coward, For whilst I'm young I'll go flounced an' flowered, In lutestring striped like the strings o' a fiddle, Wi' gowden girdles aboot my middle.
In your Hielan' glen, where the rain pours steady, Ye'll be gay an' glad for a prinkin' leddie; Where the rocks are all bare an' the turf is all sodden, An' lassies gae sad in their homespun an' hodden.
My silks are stiff wi' patterns o' siller, I've an ermine hood like the hat o' a miller, I've chains o' coral like rowan berries, An' a cramoisie mantle that cam' frae Paris.
Ye'll be glad for the glint o' its scarlet linin' When the larks are up an' the sun is shinin'; When the winds are up an' ower the heather Your heart'll be gay wi' my gowden feather.
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