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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=116797" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>When I Roved a Young Highlander</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When I rov'd a young Highlander o'er the dark heath,<br> And climb'd thy steep summit, oh Morven of snow!<br>To gaze on the torrent that thunder'd beneath,<br> Or the mist of the tempest that gather'd below,<br>Untutor'd by science, a stranger to fear,<br> And rude as the rocks where my infancy grew,<br>No feeling, save one, to my bosom was dear;<br> Need I say, my sweet Mary, 'twas centred in you?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet it could not be love, for I knew not the name,--<br> What passion can dwell in the heart of a child?<br>But still I perceive an emotion the same<br> As I felt, when a boy, on the crag-cover'd wild:<br>One image alone on my bosom impress'd,<br> I loved my bleak regions, nor panted for new;<br>And few were my wants, for my wishes were bless'd;<br> And pure were my thoughts, for my soul was with you.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I arose with the dawn; with my dog as my guide,<br> From mountain to mountain I bounded along;<br>I breasted the billows of Dee's rushing tide,<br> And heard at a distance the Highlander's song:<br>At eve, on my heath-cover'd couch of repose.<br> No dreams, save of Mary, were spread to my view;<br>And warm to the skies my devotions arose,<br> For the first of my prayers was a blessing on you.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I left my bleak home, and my visions are gone;<br> The mountains are vanish'd, my youth is no more;<br>As the last of my race, I must wither alone,<br> And delight but in days I have witness'd before:<br>Ah! splendour has raised but embitter'd my lot;<br> More dear were the scenes which my infancy knew:<br>Though my hopes may have fail'd, yet they are not forgot;<br> Though cold is my heart, still it lingers with you.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When I see some dark hill point its crest to the sky,<br> I think of the rocks that o'ershadow Colbleen;<br>When I see the soft blue of a love-speaking eye,<br> I think of those eyes that endear'd the rude scene;<br>When, haply, some light-waving locks I behold,<br> That faintly resemble my Mary's in hue,<br>I think on the long, flowing ringlets of gold,<br> The locks that were sacred to beauty, and you.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet the day may arrive, when the mountains once more<br> Shall rise to my sight, in their mantles of snow:<br>But while these soar above me, unchanged as before,<br> Will Mary be there to receive me?--ah, no!<br>Adieu, then, ye hills, where my childhood was bred!<br> Thou sweet flowing Dee, to thy waters adieu!<br>No home in the forest shall shelter my head,--<br> Ah! Mary, what home could be mine, but with you?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Byron">Byron</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=116797" data-title="When I Roved a Young Highlander de Byron" data-description="When I rov'd a young Highlander o'er the dark heath,/ And climb'd thy steep summit, oh Morven of snow!/To gaze on the torrent that thunder'd beneath,/ Or the mist of the tempest that gather'd below,/Untutor'd by science, a stranger to fear,/ And r..."></div>
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