Excerpt from Tufts of Heather
The traveller stops and gazes round and round,
O"er all the scenes that animate his heart
With mirth and music. E"en the mendicant,
Bowbent with age, that on the old gray stone
Sole sitting, suns him in the public way,
Feels his heart leap as to himself he sings.
Michael Bruce.
It was not quite eleven in the forenoon as Lobden Ben sauntered along the road towards the head of the dough, near Healey Hall, as happy as the summer day. And right well did that jolly-hearted besom-maker harmonise with the scene around him. He was a healthy, hardy, comely fellow, just in his prime, - as clean as a new pin, and dressed in his holiday clothes, freaked with such bits of rustic prettiness as his little garden and his native fields afforded. He looked like "a man of cheerful yesterdays," and hopeful future.
Embroidered was he, as it were a mead,
All full of freshe flowers, white and red,
Singing he was or fluting all the day:
He was as fresh as is the month of May.
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