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Updated: August 28, 2024
I have trod the velvet sod Beneath the beechwood tree; And roamed the brake by stream and lake Where peace and plenty be. But more than plain, Or rich domain, I love the bright blue sea! "I love the land where bracken grows And heath-clad mountains rise; Where peaks still fringed with winter snows Tower in the summer skies. Oh!
On the north-west side ran a ridge of high hills, with the cloud-capped peek of Knockmany rising in lofty eminence above them; these, as they extended towards the south, became gradually deeper in their hue, until at length they assumed the shape and form of heath-clad mountains, dark and towering.
The black smoke eddied and wavered as it rose over my father's burning hall, and then the little sea breeze took it and swept it inland over the heath-clad Caithness hills which I loved. Save for that black cloud, the June sky was bright and blue overhead, and in the sunshine one could not see the red tongues of flame that were licking up the last timbers of the house where I was born.
"They are gone," he said, turning away, "friends and foes gone, or drowned, as I should have been, fair maid, but for you." They scrambled together up the rocks, and then struck a winding sheep-path that led them over the shoulder of a heath-clad hill.
I loved the heath-clad hill, And I loved the silent vale, With its dark and purling rill That murmur'd in the gale. Of sighs I'd none to share, They were stored for riper years, When I drain'd the dregs of care With many bitter tears. My simple daily fare, In my little tiny mug, How fain was I to share With Cato on the rug.
Far down beneath it, in a depression amongst the heath-clad undulations, a fire glowed red in the gloom. And on the further side of this solitude, amidst groves and plantations, the moonlight shone on the roofs and gables of half-hidden houses. Over everything hung a deep silence. "A wild and lonely scene!" she said. Neale raised his stick again and began to point.
He is striding across a heath-clad moor, with stony ridges, and here and there a distant mine-chimney a desolate barren scene enough, but with sunshine, and a breeze from the unseen sea.
The rattle of our wheels died away as we drove through drifts of rotting vegetation sad gifts, as it seemed to me, for Nature to throw before the carriage of the returning heir of the Baskervilles. "Halloa!" cried Dr. Mortimer, "what is this?" A steep curve of heath-clad land, an outlying spur of the moor, lay in front of us.
Beyond lie the pale glinting levels of the estuary, guarded on the west by gently upward sloping cornlands and on the south by the dark furze and heath-clad mass of Stone Horse Head. Beyond again, to the low horizon, stretches the Channel sea. The very simplicity of the picture gives it singular dignity and repose.
Who that hears of Columcille will forget how He won that name, "dove of the Church", because of his early piety, and that surely bespeaks a mother's guiding care. Ethne, mother of Columcille, remains a vague but picturesque figure, seen against the background of the rugged heath-clad hills of Tir-Conal by the bright blue waters of Gartan's triple lake.
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