Classic Poem

TAKEN FROM THE RUNS OF DUNTRAITH CASTLE .

I culled thee from yon castle wall,
Now mouldering fast away, —
Where belted knights have paced the hall,
In all their bright array; —
Where love and beauty charmed the soul,
With fondest maiden-glance,
And fairy footsteps lightly stole,
Like phantoms through the dance.

All then was mirth, and love, and song,
And joy sate on each brow;
But ages since have swept along,
And all is altered now!
The gilded halls are waste and worn,
And rankest weeds grow where
Ancestral relics did adorn,
With aspect chaste and rare.

Ah! whither have thy glories gone —
Each ancient cherished right;
Have they not perished, with a groan,
Before Time's withering blight? —
And vanished into dust again,
And mixed with kindred clay,
Within Oblivion's dark domain,
'Mid cold and dull dismay?

Yet one old friend forsakes thee not,
But closer clings to thee,
Than even when splendour was thy lot,
And nights of revelry:
The verdant bushy woodbine holds
Thee in its fond embrace;
And shields thee with its emerald folds.
From tempest's furious pace.

And thy gigantic ancient trees,
Still raise their branches high,
And boldly dare the forest breeze,
That wildly dashes by. —
For they have braved a thousand gales,
In all their fiercest forms,
And stood unconquered in the vales,
Despite of sternest storms!

Thou lovely healthy Ivy leaf!
Reflection fills mine eye
When I behold thee, — even grief
Escapes me in a sigh. —
For thou lookst through each lattice now,
Where eyes were wont to shine,
With glowing cheek, and diademed brow,
And feelings all divine.