| |
| 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 ruin’d wa’s, | 10 |
| Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, | |
| Whase distant roaring swells and fa’s. | |
| |
| The cauld blae North was streaming forth | |
| Her lights, wi’ hissing, eerie din; | |
| Athwart the lift they start and shift, | 15 |
| Like Fortune’s favors, tint as win. | |
| |
| By heedless chance I turn’d mine eyes, | |
| And, by the moonbeam, shook to see | |
| A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, | |
| Attir’d as Minstrels wont to be. | 20 |
| |
| Had I a statue been o’ stane, | |
| His daring look had daunted me; | |
| And on his bonnet grav’d was plain, | |
| The sacred posy—“LIBERTIE!” | |
| |
| And frae his harp sic strains did flow, | 25 |
| Might rous’d the slumb’ring Dead to hear; | |
| But oh, 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 venture’t in my rhymes. | |
| |
