Ten more, in cadence to the sprightly strain,
Waked with their golden oars the slumbering main:
The waters yielded to their guiltless blows,
And the green billows sparkled as they rose.
Long time the barge had danced along the deep,
And on its glassy bosom seem’d to sleep;
But now a glittering isle arose in view.
Bounded with hillocks of a verdant hue:
Fresh groves and roseate bowers appear’d above
(Fit haunts, be sure, of pleasure and of love);
And, higher still, a thousand blazing spires
Seem’d with gilt tops to threat the heavenly fires.
Now each fair stripling plied his labouring oar,
And straight the pinnace struck the sandy shore.
(From “The Seven Fountains”)
The national poet of Scotland, Robert Burns, was born 255 years ago today. Happy Birthday, Robbie!
FYI – this poem isn’t actually written by Burns …