I deem’d such nooks the sweetest shade
The sun in all his round survey'd;
And still I thought that shatter’d tower
The migbtiest work of human power;
And marvell’d as the aged hind
With some strange tale bewitch'd my mind,
Of forayers, who, with headlong force,


Down from that strength had spurr’d their horst,


91


Their souihern rapine to renew,

Far in the distant Cheviots blue,

And, home returning, fill’d the hall

With revel, wassel-rout, and brawl.
Methought that still with tramp and clang
The gateway’s broken arches rang:
Methougbt grim features, seam’d with scars,
Glared ihrougk the window’s rusty bars,
And ever, by the winter hearth,

Old tales I heard of woe or mirth,

Of lovers’ slights, of ladies’ charms,

Of witches’ spells, of warriors’ arms;

Of pairiot battles, won of old

By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold;

Of later fields of fend and fight,

When, pouring from their Highland height,
The Scottish clans, in headlong sway,

Had swept the scarlei ranks away.
While stretch’d at length upon the floor,
Again I fought each combat o’er.
Pebbles and shells, in order laid,

The mimic ranks of war display’d;

And onward still the Scottish Lion bore,
And still the scatter'd Southron fled before ).
