"What varied scenes, what prospects dear In chequer'd landscape still appear! What rural sweets profusely thrang The flowery Links of Forth alang, O'er whose proud shivering surface blue Fife's woods and spires begirt the view; Where Ceres gilds the fertile plain An' richly waves the yellow grain, An' Lomond hill wi' misty showers, Aft weets auld Falkland's royal towers, Nor distant far, upon the ear The popling Leven wimples clear, Whose ruined pile and glassy lake Shall live in sang for Mary's sake.[7] * * * * * Return fond muse frae haunts sae fair, To Lothian's shore return ance mair, And let thy lyre be sweetly strung, For peerless Esk remains unsung. Romantic stream, what sweets combine To deck ilk bank and bower o' thine! For now the sun, wi' cheerfu' rays Glows soft o'er a' thy woody braes, Where mony a native wild flower's seen, Mang birks and briars, and ivy green, An' a' the woodland chorists sing Or gleesome flit on wanton wing, Save where the lintie mournfully Sabs sair 'aneath the rowan tree, To see her nest and young ones a' By thoughtless reaver borne awa.' * * * * * What saftening thoughts resistless start, And pour their influence o'er the heart; What mingling scenes around appear To musing meditation dear, When wae we tent fair grandeur fa' By Roslin's ruined Castle wa'![8] O what is pomp? and what is power? The silly phantoms of an hour! Sae loudly ance from Roslin's brow[9] The martial trump of grandeur blew, While steel-clad vassals wont to wait Their chieftain at the portalled gate; And maidens fair, in vestments gay, Bestrewed wi' flowers the warrior's way. But now, ah me! how changed the scene! Nae trophied ha', nae towers remain; Nae torches bleeze wi' gladsome light, A guiding star in dead o' night; Nae voice is heard, save tinkling rill, That echoes from the distant hill." [Footnote 7: The reference here is to the residence, or rather imprisonment of Mary in Lochleven Castle.] [Footnote 8: Roslin Castle, on the banks of the Esk, about seven miles from Edinburgh.] [Footnote 9: _Brow_, in Scotland, is often pronounced as if spelt _brue_.] How exquisite, and how entirely and peculiarly Scottish is the following: "Now tent the Pentlands westlin's seen, O'erspread wi' flowery pastures green; Where, stretching wide, the fleecy ewes[10] Run bleating round the sunny knowes, And mony a little silver rill Steals gurgling down its mossy hill; And vernal green is ilka tree On bonny braes o' Woodhouselee." [Footnote 10: _Ewes_, pronounced as if it were _yowes_.]