"Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace,

But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny?s face;

As still was her look, and as still was her ee,

As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea,

Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Such beauty bard may never declare,

For there was no pride nor passion there;

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Her seymar was the lily flower,

And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower;

And her voice like the distant melodye

That floats along the twilight sea."