Old man's wish/Roslin Ruins

ROSLIN RUINS.

At dead of night, the hour when courts,
⁠thro' the wild maze of pleasures rove,
And Mira joins the insnaring sports
⁠while art assumes the voice of love:
To Roslin's ruins I repair,
⁠a solitary wretch forlorn,
Tomourn unseen, unpitied there,
⁠my hapeless love her cruel scorn.

No sound of joy disturbs my strain;
⁠no hind is whistling on the hill:
No herdsman winding o'er the plain;
⁠no maiden singing by the rill
Esk, murm'ring thro’ the darksome pines,
⁠reflects the moon’s uncertain beams;
While thro' the clouds she faintly shines,
⁠in fancy’s eye the pale ghost gleams.

Not so the night that in thy halls,
⁠once. Roslin, danc’d in joy along;
The owl now screams within thy walls
⁠that echo’d mirth’s inspiring song;
Where bats now flit on dusky ⟨wings,⟩
⁠Th’ empurpled feast was ⟨wont⟩ to flow;
And beauty danc’d in graceful rings,
⁠where now the dark weeks baleful grow.

What now avails how great, how gay,
⁠how fair, how fine their matchless dames,
Here sleeps their undistinguish'd clay,
⁠the stone effac’d has lost their names
And yon gay crowds must soon expire,
⁠unknown, urprais’d their fair one’s name;
Not so the charms which verse inspire,
⁠increasing years increase their fame.