There's a pleasant place of rest, near a City of the West, Where its bravest and its best find their grave. Below the willows weep, and their hoary branches steep In the waters still and deep, Not a wave! And the old Cathedral Wall, so scathed and grey and tall, Like a priest surveying all, stands beyond; And the ringing of its bell, when the ringers ring it well, Makes a kind of tidal swell On the pond! And there it was I lay, on a beauteous summer's day, With the odour of the hay floating by; And I heard the blackbirds sing, and the bells demurely ring, Chime by chime, ting by ting, Droppingly. Then my thoughts went wandering back, on a very beaten track, To the confine deep and black of the tomb; And I wondered who he was, that is laid beneath the grass, Where the dandelion has Such a bloom. Then I straightway did espy, with my slantly-sloping eye, A carved stone hard by, somewhat worn; And I read in letters cold--Here.lyes.Launcelot.ye.bolde, Off.ye.race.off.Bogile.old, Glasgow.borne. He.wals.ane.valyaunt.knychte.maist.terrible.in.fychte. Here the letters failed outright, but I knew That a stout crusading lord, who had crossed the Jordan's ford, Lay there beneath the sward, Wet with dew. Time and tide they passed away, on that pleasant summer's day, And around me, as I lay, all grew old: Sank the chimneys from the town, and the clouds of vapour brown No longer, like a crown, O'er it rolled. Sank the great Saint Rollox stalk, like a pile of dingy chalk; Disappeared the cypress walk, and the flowers; And a donjon-keep arose, that might baffle any foes, With its men-at-arms in rows, On the towers. And the flag that flaunted there showed the grim and grizzly bear, Which the Bogles always wear for their crest. And I heard the warder call, as he stood upon the wall, "Wake ye up! my comrades all, From your rest! "For, by the blessed rood, there's a glimpse of armour good In the deep Cowcaddens wood, o'er the stream; And I hear the stifled hum of a multitude that come, Though they have not beat the drum, It would seem! "Go tell it to my Lord, lest he wish to man the ford With partisan and sword, just beneath; Ho, Gilkison and Nares! Ho, Provan of Cowlairs! We'll back the bonny bears To the death!" To the tower above the moat, like one who heedeth not, Came the bold Sir Launcelot, half undressed; On the outer rim he stood, and peered into the wood, With his arms across him glued On his breast.