Page:Old Castles.djvu/21

Rh 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