St. Giles, like time-tried sentinel,
Uplifts his cross on high,
And stirs his ancient might to guard
Thy pristine majesty;
And Learning reareth massive walls
Thy fairest haunts among,
While, as a charmed child, the world
Doth list thy magic song.
But settling o'er thy brow I see
A tinge of mournful thought,
For Autumn blights the heather-flower,
That generous summer brought;
And though I seek a greener clime,
Where flowers are fair to see,
Still, still, sweet queen of Caledon,
My spirit turns to thee.
There may indeed be richer realms,
Where pride and splendor roll;
But thou art skilled to soothe the pang
That rives the stranger's soul.
There may perchance be those who say
Thy mountain-land is drear;
Yet thou hast still the wealth that wins
The stranger's grateful tear.
Page:Pleasant Memories.pdf/116
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FAREWELL TO EDINBURGH.
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