As I stood by yon roofless tower,
Where the wa'-flower scents the dewy air,
Where th' howlet mourns in her ivy bower
And tells the midnight moon her care;
The winds were laid, the air was still,
The Stars they shot along the sky;
The fox was howling on the hill,
The stream, adown its hazelly path,
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's,
Hasting to join the sweeping Nith,[109A]
Whose distant roaring swells and fa's.
The cauld blue north was streaming forth
Her lights, wi' hissing eerie din;
Athort the lift they start and shift,
Like fortune's favours, tint as win.
By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes,
And, by the moon-beam, shook to see
A stern and stalwart ghaist arise,
Attir'd as minstrels wont to be.[109B]
Had I a statue been o' stane,
His darin' look had daunted me;
And on his bonnet grav'd was plain,
The sacred posy--'Libertie!'
And frae his harp sic strains did flow,
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 the former day,
He weeping wail'd his latter times;
But what he said it was nae play,--
I winna ventur't in my rhymes.
[Footnote 109A: VARIATIONS.
To join yon river on the Strath.]
[Footnote 109B: VARIATIONS.
Now looking over firth and fauld,
Her horn the pale-fac'd Cynthia rear'd;
When, lo, in form of minstrel auld,
A storm and stalwart ghaist appear'd.]
