Loch Tay
IF I were a poet like Karel Toman or Otakar Fischer,[1] I would to-day write a short but beautiful poem. It would be about the Scottish lakes, the Scottish wind would be wafted through it, and the daily Scottish rain would bedew it; it would contain something about blue waves, gorse, bracken and wistful pathways; in it I should not mention that these wistful pathways are entirely begirt with a fence (perhaps to prevent enchantresses from going to dance there). I must say in crude prose how beautiful it is here; a blue and violet-coloured lake between bare hills—the lake is called Loch Tay and each valley is called Glen, each mountain Ben and each man Mac, a blue and peaceful lake, a sparkling
- ↑ Two distinguished contemporary Czech poets.
105
