Classic Poem

Once upon a time there stood
A Castle by the Western sea:
Near by there was a gnomish wood
Ancient and wild with glamorie
Of ferly things wrought secretly:
There I was free as it were mine,
For those who ruled were kin to me:
But the Lords o' the Castle are dead lang syne!

Oft in that wood from my old beldame
I fled thro' hushed elf-haunted ways:
But the clatter there was when the gay Lords came
Laughing back from their brave forays!
Great sport they had, and high feast days,
Follow'd by long red nights of wine,
With ball and banquet rooms ablaze:
But the Lords o' the Castle are dead lang syne!

A moment now to me it seem'd
As if low golden bells had rung
Out of the forest where I dream'd
Years ago when I was young:
And even now 'twas on my tongue
To tell a tale too fair and fine
For the like of these I dwell among:
But the Lords o' the Castle are dead lang syne!

Slow accumulating hours!
And the last rays of the Sun shine
Redly over the ruin'd towers!
But the Lords o' the Castle are dead lang syne!