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EHIND us tower the Ochils green,

Before us winds the waveless sea;
And there we greet, superbly seen,
Grey Castle Campbell, thee!
By the grim storm clouds overcast,

Even like a spectre of the past,

Of rapine, feudal strife, and blood,

Thou tellest an old, wild, warlike story, When squadrons on thy ramparts stood, With spear and shield, in martial glory!

Far in the night of ages back,

Castle of Gloom, thy pile arose,

78

CASTLE CAMPBELL.

When, spurning legislation's track,

Each strath contained both friends and foes;

Then passed unto Macaillian More

The drawbridge of thine entrance o'er;

And, while within Dunfermline grey

Each Celtic chief his chief attended,
Power, pomp, and pride could'st thou display,
Than royalty's alone less splendid.

Then often here, where only now

We list the trickling of the rill,
The green leaf rustling on the bough,
The music of the linnet's bill,-
With quivered back, and levelled spear,

The early hunters chased the deer
Through grove and glen with wild halloo,

Starting from eyrie high the eagle;

And bugle's shrill reveillé blew,

And soared the hawk, and bayed the beagle.

The times have altered: to the north

The gillies of Argyle have gone ;

And on thy battlements gleam forth

The wild flowers, where their tartans shone.

The days of chivalry have fled;

The red claymore is scabbarded :

No more for foray, or for feud,

The fiery-cross a summons blazes,
And here, alone, on dark, green wood
And ruined walls, the traveller gazes!

D. M. MOIR.

AN ENGLISH LANDSCAPE.

79

THE RUINED CASTLE.

IME-HALLOWED pile! no more, no more
HAL

Thou hear'st the hostile cannon roar;

No more bold chiefs thy drawbridge pace,

To battle, tournament, or chase;

No more the valiant man thy towers;

No more the lovely grace thy bowers;
Nor bright eyes smile o'er the guitar;
Nor the trump stirs bold hearts to war.

The falling meteor o'er thee shoots;
The dull owl in thy chambers hoots;
Now doth the creeping ivy twine,

Where once bloomed rose and eglantine;
And there, where once in rich array
Met lords, and knights, and ladies gay,

The bat is clinging to those walls,

And the fox nestles in those halls.

HENRY NEfle.

AN ENGLISH LANDSCAPE.

OW I gain the mountain's brow,
What a landscape lies below!
No clouds, no vapours intervene ;
But the gay, the open scene
Does the face of Nature show

In all the hues of heaven's bow,

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