With distant music, soft and deep, They lulled Kilmeny sound asleep; And when she awakened, she lay her lane, All happed with flowers in the greenwood wene. When seven long years had come and fled; When grief was calm, and hope was dead; When scarce was remembered Kilmeny's name, Late, late in a gloamin, Kilmeny came hame!

fair to see

Such beauty bard may never declare,

For there was no pride nor passion there;
And the soft desire of maidens' een,

In that mild face could never be seen.
Her seymar was the lily flower,

And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower;
And her voice like the distant melodye
That floats along the twilight sea.
But she loved to raike the lanely glen,
And keeped afar frae the haunts of men;
Her holy hymns unheard to sing,

To suck the flowers and drink the spring.
But wherever her peaceful form appeared,
The wild beasts of the hills were cheered!
The wolf played blythely round the field,
The lordly byson lowed and kneeled;
The dun deer wooed with manner bland,
And cowered aneath her lily hand.
And when at even the woodlands rung,
When hymns of other worlds she sung
In ecstasy of sweet devotion,

O, then the glen was all in motion !

The wild beasts of the forest came,

Broke from their bughts and faulds the tame, And goved around, charmed and amazed;

Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed,

And murmured and looked with anxious pain,
For something the mystery to explain.
The huzzard came with the throstle-cock,

Romance or fairy fable?