Utazás Skócia derekán, Arran szigetétől Edinburgh-ig, 2010 szeptemberében.
„Hear the voice of the bard:
The present, past, and future sees.
His ears have heard the holy word,
And walked among the ancient trees
Calling the lapsed soul,
And weeping in the evening dew,
And might control the starry pole
And fallen, fallen, light renew.
Oh earth, oh earth return,
Arise from out the dewy grass.
The night is worn, and the morn
Rises from the slumberous mass.
Turn away no more.
Why will thou turn away the starry floor?
The watch, be sure,
Is given thee 'til the break of day.
'Til the break of day”
(William Blake: Beautiful Ghost)
Arran Whisky Distillery
„Blank misgivings of a Creature
Moving about in worlds not realised,
High instincts before which our mortal Nature
Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised:
But for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,
Which, be they what they may,
Are yet the fountain-light of all our day,
Are yet a master-light of all our seeing;
Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,
To perish never;
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor,
Nor Man nor Boy,
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
Can utterly abolish or destroy!
Hence in a season of calm weather
Though inland far we be,
Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea
Which brought us hither,
Can in a moment travel thither,
And see the Children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore”
(Wordsworth: Ode - Intimations to Immortality)
„Birds of omen dark and foul,
Night-crow, raven, bat, and owl,
Leave the sick man to his dream -
All night long he heard you scream.
Haste to cave and ruin'd tower,
Ivy tod, or dingled-bower,
There to wink and mop, for, hark!
In the mid air sings the lark.
Hie to moorish gills and rocks,
Prowling wolf and wily fox, -
Hie ye fast, nor turn your view,
Though the lamb bleats to the ewe.
Couch your trains, and speed your flight,
Safety parts with parting night;
And on distant echo borne,
Comes the hunter's early horn.
The moon's wan crescent scarcely gleams,
Ghost-like she fades in morning beams;
Hie hence, each peevish imp and fay
That scarce the pilgrim on his way, -
Quench, kelpy! quench, in bog and fen,
Thy torch, that cheats benighted men;
Thy dance is o'er, thy reign is done,
For Benyieglo hath seen the sun.
Wild thoughts, that, sinful, dark, and deep,
O'erpower the passive mind in sleep,
Pass from the slumberer's soul away,
Like night-mists from the brow of day:
Foul hag, whose blasted visage grim
Smothers the pulse, unnerves the limb,
Spur thy dark palfrey, and begone!
Thou darest not face the godlike sun.”
(Walter Scott - Ancient Gaelic Melody)