Calm on the breast of Loch Maree
A little isle reposes;
A shadow woven of the oak
And willow o’er it closes.
Within, a Druid’s mound is seen,
Set round with stony warders;
A fountain, gushing through the turf,
Flows o’er its grassy borders.
And whoso bathes therein his brow,
With care or madness burning,
Feels once again his healthful thought
And sense of peace returning.
O restless heart and fevered brain,
Unquiet and unstable,
That holy well of Loch Maree
Is more than idle fable!
Life’s changes vex, its discords stun,
Its glaring sunshine blindeth,
And blest is he who on his way
That fount of healing findeth!
The shadows of a humbled will
And contrite heart are o’er it;
Go read its legend, “Trust in god,”
On Faith’s white stones before it.
1850.
The incident upon which this poem is based is related
in a note to Bernardin Henri Saint Pierre’s
Etudes de la Nature. “We arrived at the
habitation of the Hermits a little before they sat
down to their table, and while they were still at
church. J. J. Rousseau proposed to me to offer
up our devotions. The hermits were reciting the
Litanies of Providence, which are remarkably beautiful.
After we had addressed our prayers to God, and the
hermits were proceeding to the refectory, Rousseau
said to me, with his heart overflowing, ’At this
moment I experience what is said in the gospel:
Where two or three are gathered together in my name,
there am I in the midst of them. There is here
a feeling of peace and happiness which penetrates
the soul.’ I said, ’If Finelon had
lived, you would have been a Catholic.’
He exclaimed, with tears in his eyes, ’Oh, if
Finelon were alive, I would struggle to get into his
service, even as a lackey!’” In my sketch
of Saint Pierre, it will be seen that I have somewhat
antedated the period of his old age. At that
time he was not probably more than fifty. In describing
him, I have by no means exaggerated his own history
of his mental condition at the period of the story.
In the fragmentary Sequel to his Studies of Nature,
he thus speaks of himself: “The ingratitude
of those of whom I had deserved kindness, unexpected
family misfortunes, the total loss of my small patrimony
through enterprises solely undertaken for the benefit
of my country, the debts under which I lay oppressed,
the blasting of all my hopes,—these combined
calamities made dreadful inroads upon my health and
reason. . . . I found it impossible to continue
in a room where there was company, especially if the
doors were shut. I could not even cross an alley
in a public garden, if several persons had got together
in it. When alone, my malady subsided. I
felt myself likewise at ease in places where I saw
children only. At the sight of any one walking
up to the place where I was, I felt my whole frame
agitated, and retired. I often said to myself,
’My sole study has been to merit well of mankind;
why do I fear them?’”
