Benlomond

Hadst thou a genius on thy peak,
 What tales, white-headed Ben,
Could'st thou of ancient ages speak,
 That mock th' historian's pen!

Thy long duration makes our livea
 Seem but so many hours;
And likens, to the bees' frail hives,
 Our most stupendous towers.

Temples and towers thou seest begun,
 New creeds, new conquerers sway;
And, like their shadows in the sun,
 Hast seen them swept away.

Thy steadfast summit, heaven-allied
 (Unlike life's little span),
Looks down a mentor on the pride
 Of perishable man.