George Hay Drummond (1711-1776)

The Hills of Scotia

Ye hills of Scotia, by whose winding sides
The brawling stream of Esk so swiftly flows
On whose wild banks a varied forest grows
And the birch vibrates as the current glides,
While over your crags the rack incessant glides,
Athwart the steeps a moving mantle throws,
Or like that pillar vast, majestic goes
Which marshalled Israel through Egyptian tides:

O take me to your calm retreats again!
Even in such scenes, amid your gloom, I find
A ray of pensive hope to cheer my mind,
That heavenly mercies brighter hours ordain:
For see, though storms blacken the vale below,
The auspicious bow on high in rich prismatic glow.