The Reason Why
Nor for their beauty do I love the hills
Of which I sing--fair though the features seem
Bath'd in the splendour of the morning's beam,
Or clad in that soft witchery that fills
Each glen at gloaming; not for this the rills
Are more to me than any classic stream
That ever Poet chose him for a theme;--
A sweeter reason all my being thrills!
They are my own! the much-lov'd hills of home!
Not with that earthly ownership which looks
For rent and taxes; but because the brooks,
The braes, the glens, all--all--where'er I roam
Have voices sounding in the lonely wild,
That call me as a mother calls her child.
Nor for their beauty do I love the hills
Of which I sing--fair though the features seem
Bath'd in the splendour of the morning's beam,
Or clad in that soft witchery that fills
Each glen at gloaming; not for this the rills
Are more to me than any classic stream
That ever Poet chose him for a theme;--
A sweeter reason all my being thrills!
They are my own! the much-lov'd hills of home!
Not with that earthly ownership which looks
For rent and taxes; but because the brooks,
The braes, the glens, all--all--where'er I roam
Have voices sounding in the lonely wild,
That call me as a mother calls her child.