A HIGHLAND VILLAGE.
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From golden roof and spout
Brown waters gurgle and splutter,
And rush down the flooded gutter
Where the village children shout,
As barefoot they splash in and out
The water with tireless patter.
The bald little Highland street
Is all alive and a-glitter;
The air blows keen and sweet
From the field where the swallows twitter;
Old wives on the doorsteps meet,
At the corner the young maids titter.
And the reapers hasten again,
Ere quite the daylight wane
To shake out the barley sheaves;
While through the twinkling leaves
The harvest moon upheaves
Clear shining after the rain.
