| |
| AS I stood by yon roofless tower, | |
| Where the wa’-flower scents the dewy air, | |
| Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower, | |
| And tells the midnight moon her care, | |
| |
| The winds were laid, the air was still, | 5 |
| The stars they shot alang the sky; | |
| The fox was howling on the hill, | |
| And the distant-echoing glens reply. | |
| |
| The stream, adown its hazelly path, | |
| Was rushing by the ruined wa’s, | 10 |
| Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, | |
| Whase distant roaring swells and fa’s. | |
| |
| The cauld blue north was streaming forth | |
| Her lights, wi’ hissing, eerie din; | |
| Athort the lift they start and shift, | 15 |
| Like fortune’s favors, tint as win. | |
| |
| By heedless chance I turned mine eyes, | |
| And by the moonbeam shook to see | |
| A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, | |
| Attired as minstrels wont to be. | 20 |
| |
| Had I a statue been o’ stane, | |
| His darin’ look had daunted me; | |
| And on his bonnet graved was plain, | |
| The sacred posy,—Libertie! | |
| |
| And frae his harp sic strains did flow, | 25 |
| Might roused the slumbering dead to hear; | |
| But O, it was a tale of woe, | |
| As ever met a Briton’s ear! | |
| |
| He sang wi’ joy his former day, | |
| He weeping wailed his latter times; | 30 |
| But what he said it was nae play, | |
| I winna ventur ’t in my rhymes. | |
| |
