Classic Poem

McTavish gazed along the lake
As if a last farewell to take.
He watched the fair moon shed her light
Refulgent on Ben Lomond's height,
And how Loch Sporran's waters gleam
Beneath her chaste and silvery beam.
Around his foot the heather springs,
The bracken too and other things,
A river's murmur fills the air
(The usual stag is drinking there)
And never, stranger, hath it been
Thy lot to view so fair a scene!