Page:Pleasant Memories.pdf/79

High o'er thy head rude Arthur's Seat
    And Salisbury Crag in ledges rise,
Where love the hurtling winds to shriek
    Wild chorus to the wintry skies.

Thy roofless chapel, stained with years,
    And paved with tomb-stones damp and low,
Yon gloomy vault, whose grated doors
    The bones of prince and chieftain show

Unburied, while from pictured hall,
    In armor decked, or antique crown,
A strange interminable line
    Of Scotia's kings look grimly down.

Yet with bold touch hath Fancy wrought,
    And ranged her airy region wide,
The features and the form to give,
    Where History scarce a name supplied.

Methinks o'er every mouldering wall,
    Around each arch and buttress twine,
Like rustling banner's dreamy fold,
    The chequered fate of Stuart's line.

First of that race, whose early years
    Dragged slowly on in captive's cell;
And he, who at the cannon's mouth
    In the dire siege of Roxburgh fell;