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Updated: May 9, 2025
The broad harvest moon was shining full upon the bosom of Teviot, and glittering upon the rustling leaves of the woods that overhang her banks, and pouring a flood of more golden light upon the already golden grain that waved ripe for the sickle along the margin of the lovely stream, the stars, few in number, but most brilliant, had taken their places in the sky; the owl was whooping from the ivied tower; the corn-craik was calling drowsily; now and then the distant baying of a watch-dog startled the silence, otherwise undisturbed, save by the plaintive murmuring of the stream, which, as it flowed past, uttered such querulous sounds, that, as some one has happily expressed it, "one was almost tempted to ask what ailed it."
"Silence, silence, till I complate my rural ideas in some gentleman's rookery at all events; the thrush here, the blackbird there, the corn-craik chanting its varied note in another place, and so on. In the meantime we reverend sentimentalists advance, gazing with odoriferous admiration upon the prospect about us, and expatiating in the purest of Latin upon the beauties of unsophisticated nature.
Possibly the Celtic strain persisting in many of the Scotch people inspires lines like these in more modern times: "The corn-craik was chirming His sad eerie cry And the wee stars were dreaming Their path through the sky." In order to produce a poet able to write both A Midsummer Night's Dream and Hamlet, the Celtic imagination must blend with the Anglo-Saxon seriousness.
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