Page:Old Castles.djvu/21

Here too the silver Solway from thy heights,
Soft mantling on the distance, may be seen;
And Scotland’s purple hills–long misty flights,
Where oft of yore her brave ones’ feet have been,
Or where her bards have dwelt, their sounds and sights
The joy that blest them, kept their souls serene;
And nearer, fell on fell around thee creeps,
Their dark brows steeping in the radiant blue
Of the sweet summer; or when winter keeps
His storm-clouds marshalled, looking grandly through
The silver braiding of their swelling sweeps,
Half lost in its pale glory, but still true
To their stern form and features, better seen
When those dark clouds have fall’n, and the pale snow
Rests on their rugged shoulders, its pure sheen
Gracing their grandeur, the fair marble show,
The soul from far of the rude wintry scene
Of this north country, while the dark months flow.
And nearer still, still ready for the feet
Of wearied artizan, or o’ertasked child,
Or raptured lovers, bringing sweet to sweet,
Thou hast thy beauteous walks and scenes more mild;
The “Scaur,” athwart whose heights the Romans piled
Their masonry enduring, the grand Wall
Which kept the Pict abeyant, o’er which frowned
The Roman legions, ready one and all,
From east to west, to keep this ancient bound
From foot incursive, where’er foot might fall.
Hard by where Hyssop Holme’s green mantled steeps
Crown the famed “Well,” most honoured of thy haunts,
This fabric ponderous paced the Eden’s deeps,
Flying far on to where the Solway chants