Bonny Kilmeny gaed up the glen, But it was na to meet Duneira's men; Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see, For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. It was only to hear the yorlin sing, And pu' the cress flower round the spring; The scarlet hypp and the hind berrye, And the nut that hung frae the hazel tree; But Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. But lang may her minny[167] look o'er the wa', And lang may she seek i' the greenwood shaw; Lang the laird of Duneira blame, And lang, lang greet or Kilmeny come hame! When many a day had come and fled, When grief grew calm, and hope was dead, When mass for Kilmeny's soul had been sung, When the beads-man had prayed, and the dead-bell rung, Late, late in a gloamin, when all was still, When the fringe was red on the western hill, The wood was sere, the moon i' the wane, The reek o' the cot hung over the plain, Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane;[168] When the ingle lowed[169] with an eiry[170] leme, Late, late in the gloamin, Kilmeny came hame! Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been? Lang hae we sought baith holt and dean,[171] By linn, by ford and greenwood tree, Yet you are halesome and fair to see. Where gat you that joup[172] o' the lily scheen? That bonny snook[173] o' the birk sae green? And these roses, the fairest that ever were seen? Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been? Kilmeny looked up wi' a lovely grace, But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face; As still was her look, and as still was her ee, As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea, Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea. For Kilmeny had been she knew not where, And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare; Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew, Where the rain never fell, and the wind never blew, But it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung, And the airs of heaven played round her tongue, When she spake of the lovely forms she had seen, And a land where sin had never been, A land of love and a land of light, Withouten sun, or moon, or night; Where the river swa'd[174] a living stream, And the light a pure celestial beam: The land of vision it would seem, A still, an everlasting dream.