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.