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HOLYROOD.
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HOLYROOD.
Old Holyrood! Edina's pride,
When erst, in regal state arrayed,
The mitred abbots told their beads,
And chanted'neath thy hallowed shade,
And nobles, in thy palace courts,
Revel, and dance, and pageant led,
And trump to tilt and tourney called,
And royal hands the banquet spread;
A lingering beauty still is thine,
Though age on age have o'er thee rolled,
Since good king David reared thy walls,
With turrets proud and tracery bold.
And still the Norman's pointed arch
Its interlacing blends sublime
With Gothic columns' clustered strength,
Where foliage starts and roses climb.
