CLOUDS that gather round Loch Katrine,
I know not which is the earth or sky;
Your sun-smit battlements float so nigh
To the mountains stoled in purple and sheen.
Dark cloud shadows that seem to race
Like a vengeful clan o'er the mountain's side,
Is't ye that rush, or the hills that glide?
Or whirl ye together on one mad chase?

Great wizard who made this lake thine own,
To dwell in for ever with one fair child,
Thine perchance is the glamour-light thrown
O'er its tricksy face and its cradle wild;
And I tremble to see, through the vanishing blue
Of its shadows, our work-a-day world look through!