6
But dark is thy tempestuous flood,
When sad November lours;
And through old Bothall's gloomy wood
The foaming torrent pours.
When sad November lours;
And through old Bothall's gloomy wood
The foaming torrent pours.
Then e'en the oak's last lingering leaves
The slippery path-way spread;
The long brown grass the foot deceives,
And mocks the uncertain tread.
The slippery path-way spread;
The long brown grass the foot deceives,
And mocks the uncertain tread.
The Lady's chapel rises there.
Amid the darkening gloom;
Its mouldering walls still brave the air;
The maniac's lonely tomb!
Amid the darkening gloom;
Its mouldering walls still brave the air;
The maniac's lonely tomb!
No roof has crown'd those mouldering walls,
For many a wintry day;
An aged ash high o'er them falls,
With moss and lichens grey.
For many a wintry day;
An aged ash high o'er them falls,
With moss and lichens grey.
