POEMS OLD AND NEW

It glared on Roslin's castled rock.
It ruddied all the copse-wood glen ;

'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak.
And seen from cavern'd Hawthornden.

Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud,
Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffin'd lie.

Each Baron, for a sable shroud,
Sheath'd in his iron panoply.

Seem'd all on fire within, around.

Deep sacristy and altar's pale ; 10

Shone every pillar foliage-bound.

And glimmer'd all the dead men's mail.

Blazed battlement and pinnet high.

Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair—

So still they blaze, when fate is nigh
The lordly line of high St. Glair.

There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold
Lie buried within that proud chapelle ;

Each one the holy vault doth hold—

But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle ! 20

And each St. Glair was buried there,
With candle, with book, and with knell ;

But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung,
The dirge of lovely Rosabelle.

SIR WALTER SCOTT

PROUD MAISIE
PROUD Maisie is in the wood.
Walking so early ;
Sweet Robin sits on the bush,
Singing so rarely.
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