Bidding adieu to Lochleven, we journey slowly through a pleasant and highly cultivated region, till we reach the ancient town of Dunfermline, in which some of the old Scottish kings formerly held court, and which is yet adorned with the remains of a magnificent abbey. Robert Bruce was interred here, in complete armor, and much interest was excited, a few years ago, by the discovery of his skeleton. In the vicinity are the ruins of Malcolm Canmore's palace and stronghold, standing on the edge of a deep romantic glen, in which, more than three hundred years ago, the poet Henryson, a schoolmaster in Dunfermline, was wont to wander, singing his beautiful lays, in the quaint and difficult dialect of former times. "In myddis of June, that jolly sweet sessoun, Quhen that fair Phoebus, with his beamis brycht, Had dryit up the clew fra daill and doun, And all the land made with his lemys lycht; In a morning betwene mid-day and nycht, I raiss and put all sluith and sleep on syde; Ontill a wod I went allone, but gyd. (glad?) Sueit was the smell of flowris quhyt and reid, The noyis of birdis rycht delitious; The bewis brod blumyt abune my heid; The grund gowand with grassis gratious Of all pleasans that place was plenteous, With sueit odours and birdis armonie; The mornyng mild my mirth was mair forthy. Henryson was contemporary with William Dunbar, a poet, says Sir Walter Scott, unrivalled by any that Scotland has ever produced. He flourished at the court of James IV. His poems are of all sorts, allegorical, moral and comic. The following lines on the brevity of human existence are a fair specimen of his style. This wavering warld's wretchedness, The failing and fruitless business, The misspent time, the service vain, For to consider is ane pain. The sliding joy, the gladness short, The perjured love, the false comfort, The seveir abade (delay), the slightful train (snare), For to consider is ane pain. The sugared mouths, with minds therefra, The figured speech, with faces tway; The pleasing tongues, with hearts unplain, For to consider is ane pain. In another poem he takes a more cheerful view of life. Be merry, man, and tak' not sair in mind The wavering of this wretched world of sorrow; To God be humble, to thy friend be kind, And with thy neighbors gladly lend and borrow, His chance to-night, it may be thine to-morrow, &c. From Dunfermline, we cross the country in the direction of Stirling, and of course linger to view the famous battle-ground of Bannockburn, immortalized by the prowess of Scotland, and the poetry of Burns.