Blair Collection > Selections from the Gaelic bards

DUNCAN BAN MACINTYRE.
Faultless is her pace,
And her leap is full of grace —
Ha ! the last when in the race
Never saw I her :
When she takes yon startled stride,
Nor once turns her head aside,
Aught to match her hasty pride
Is not known to me.
But now she 's on the heath,
As she ought to be,
Where the tender grass she seeth,
Growing dawtily :
The dry bent, the moor grass bare,
With thesappy herbs are there,
That make fat, and full, and fair,
Her plump quarters all.
And those little wells are nigh,
Where the water-cresses lie,
Above wine she loves to try
Their waves' solacing;
Of the rye-grass, twisted rows,
On the rude hill side it grows,
Than of rarest festal shows
Is she fonder far.
The choice increase of the earth
Forms her joyous treat;
The primrose, St. John's wort,
Tops of gowans sweet,
The new buds of the groves,
The soft heath o'er which she roves,
Are the titbits that she loves,
With good cause too.
For speckled, spotted, rare,
Tall, and fine, and fair,