Half-Greek adown the Highland glen
And singing to the open sky,
I passed beyond the ways of men
And found my vale in Arcady.
The bees were drowsy on the slope,
The air was wondrous sweet and still,
And all my heart beat high with hope
Of marvels on the Grecian hill.
The light cloak from my shoulders flew,
My bare brown limbs were light and free;
The lark whose rapture thrilled me through
Was but a singing bird to me:
For I was Greek in Hellas' prime
And singing to the clear bright air,
And Grecian bees were in the thyme
And the lost charm in all things fair.
Hills beyond hills from blue to grey
Faint to the misty Highland sky,
But I have been an hour away
In my own vale of Arcady.
From tree to tree the whisper creeps,
"Look, sister, at the wayward man!
His are the eyes of one who sleeps
Within the vale Arcadian."
"Hush, hush!" the pine-tree sighs, "and look,"
The lav'rock peeps from heather sweet,
And headlong streams the Highland brook
To break in laughter at my feet.
