This place is fair; but when the year hath grown From snow-drops to the dusk auricula, And spaces throng'd to-day with naked boughs, Are banks of murmuring foliage, chestnut-flower'd, Far fairer. Then, as in the summer past, From the red village underneath the hill, When the long daylight closes, in the hush Comes the pathetic mirth of children's games: Or clear sweet trebles, as two lines of girls Advance and then retire, singing the while Snatches of some old ballad sore decay'd, And crumbling to no-meaning through sheer age-- A childish drama watch'd by labouring men, In shirt-sleeves, smoking at the open doors, With a strange sweetness stirring at their hearts. Then when the darkness comes and voices cease, The long-ranged brick-kilns glow, the far-stretch'd pier Breaks out, like Aaron's rod, in buds of fire; And with a startling suddenness the light, That like a glow-worm slumbers on Inchkeith, Broadens, then to a glow-worm shrinks again. The sea is dark, but on the darker coast Beyond, the ancient towns Queen Mary knew Glitter, like swarms of fire-flies, here and there. Come, Summer, from the south, and grow apace From flower to flower, until thy prime is reach'd, Then linger, linger, linger o'er the rose! DANSCIACH. Upon a ruin by the desert shore, I sat one autumn day of utter peace, Watching a lustrous stream of vapour pour O'er Blaavin, fleece on fleece. The blue frith stretch'd in front without a sail, Huge boulders on the shore lay wreck'd and strown; Behind arose, storm-bleach'd and lichen-pale, Buttress and wall of stone. And sitting on the Norseman's ruin'd stair, While through the shining vapours downward roll'd, A ledge of Blaavin gleam'd out, wet and bare, I heard this story told:-- "All night the witch sang, and the castle grew Up from the rock, with tower and turret crown'd: All night she sang--when fell the morning dew 'Twas finish'd round and round. "From out the morning ambers opening wide, A galley, many-oar'd and dragon-beak'd, Came, bearing bridegroom Sigurd, happy-eyed, Bride Hilda, brilliant-cheek'd. "And in the witch's castle, magic-built, They dwelt in bridal sweetness many a year, Till tumult rose in Norway, blood was spilt,-- Then Sigurd grasp'd his spear. "The Islesmen murmur'd 'gainst the Norseman's tax; Jarl Sigurd led them--many a skull he cleft, Ere, 'neath his fallen standard, battle-axe Blood-painted to the heft, "He lay at sunset propp'd up by his slain, (Leader and kerne that he had smitten down,) Stark, rigid; in his haut face scorn and pain, Fix'd in eternal frown. "When they brought home the bloody man, the sight Blanch'd Hilda to her hair of bounteous gold; That day she was a happy bride, that night A woman gray and old.