Page:Songs of the Road Doyle.djvu/138

Rh Ecclefechan held us next,

Where old Tom Carlyle was vexed

By the clamour and the strife

Of this strange and varied life.

We saw his pipe, we saw his hat,

We saw the stone on which he sat.

The solid stone is resting there,

But where the sitter? Where, oh! where?

Over a dreary wilderness

We had to take our path by guess,

For Scotland's glories don't include

The use of signs to mark the road.

For forty miles the way ran steep

Over bleak hills with scattered sheep,

Until at last, 'neath gloomy skies,

We saw the stately towers rise

Where noble Edinburgh lies—