The tourists, under the direction of a Scottish farmer, whose acquaintance Master Lewis had made, next proceeded to an eminence commanding a view of the mansion house of Coilsfield, the romance-haunting Castle of Montgomery. "There," said the Scotchman, "lived Burns's first sweetheart." "Highland Mary?" asked several voices. "Yes." "They were separated by death," said Master Lewis. "Can you tell us the story?" "As Mary was expecting soon to be wedded to Burns, she went to visit her kin in Argyleshire. She met Burns for the last time on a Sunday in May. It was a lovely day, and standing one on the one side and one on the other of a small brook, and holding a Bible between them, they promised to be true to each other for ever. "On the journey, Mary fell sick and died. You have read Burns's lines 'To Mary in Heaven'?" That sacred hour can I forget? Can I forget the hallowed grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love? Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace! Ah! little thought we 'twas our last! "Do you ever sing the songs of Burns?" asked Master Lewis. "Would you like to hear me try 'Highland Mary'?" "Do!" said Ernest Wynn, who was always affected by ballad music. The Scotchman quoted a line or two of the poem, changing from the English to the Scottish accent. The boys were charmed with the words, and sat down on the grass to listen to HIGHLAND MARY. Ye banks and braes and streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie! There simmer first unfauld her robes, And there the langest tarry; For there I took the last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasped her to my bosom! The golden hours, on angel wings, Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' monie a vow, and locked embrace, Our parting was fu' tender; And, pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursels asunder: But, oh! fell death's untimely frost That nipt my flower sae early! Now green 's the sod, and cauld 's the clay, That wraps my Highland Mary! Oh, pale, pale now, those rosy lips, I aft hae kissed sae fondly! And closed for aye the sparkling glance That dwelt on me sae kindly! And mould'ring now in silent dust That heart that lo'ed me dearly! But still within my bosom's core Shall live my Highland Mary. The "banks and braes and streams around" gleamed like a vision of enchantment in the full noon sunlight. Never had the boys listened to a song amid such highly romantic associations.