William McGonagall writes like a man so smitten with a place that he can’t stop singing its praises. He calls out directly to those who love pretty landscapes, begging them to come to Comrie, a village in Perthshire. From the moment you start reading, you feel his eagerness: he wants you to breathe the woodland air, gaze at Loch Earn’s sparkling water, and admire the flower-decked cottages and handsome villas. His list of attractions—a prehistoric fort, a sacred well, silver birches, and hoary beeches—pours out in a rush of pure, unguarded enthusiasm. There’s no subtlety, no irony, just a simple, generous belief that a holiday here will lift your spirits and drive dull care away. The mood is sunny, quaint, and so relentlessly cheerful that the poem practically acts as its own vintage travel poster.
Beautiful Comrie — Summary
Ye lovers of the picturesque, away, away! To beautiful Comrie and have a holiday; Aud bask in the sunahine and inhale the fragrant air Emanating from the woodlands and shrubberies there.
The charming village of Comrie is most lovely to be seen, Especially in the summer season when the trees are green; And near by is Loch Earn and its waters sparkling clear, And as the tourist gazes thereon his spirits it will cheer.
Then St. Fillans is a beautiful spot, I must confess, It is really a picture of rural loveliness; Because out of the quiet lake the river ripples merrily, And all round are hills beautiful in shape and nothing uncomely.
The rocky knoll to the south is a most seductive place, And in the hotel there visitors will find every solace; And the flower-decked cottages are charming to see, Also handsome villas suitable for visitors of high and low degree.
Then there's St. Fillan's Hill, a prehistoric fort, And visitors while there to it should resort; And to the tourist the best approach is from the west, Because in climbing the hill his strength it will test.
And descending the hill as best one may, The scene makes the tourist's heart feel gay; And by the west side is reached a wooded deli, And about two hundred yards from that there's St. Fillan's Well.
Oh, charming Comrie! I must conclude my lay, And to write in praise of thee I virtually do say That your lovely mountains and silver birches will drive dull care away: Therefore lovers of the picturesque, away, away!
To beautiful Comrie end have a holidoy, And I'm sure you will return with spirits, light and gay, After viewing the Sylvan beauties and hoary beeches there, Also pines, ferns, and beautiful oaks, I do declare.