Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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An Address to the Mains Castle.
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
An Address to the Mains Castle.
Auld, lanely, dull, and eldritch tower,
Thou lang wi' time hast warsled dour,
And tholed the pith o' mony a shower,
Rain, hail, and snaw:
Far distant be the destined hour
Whan thou maun fa'.
Thou lang wi' time hast warsled dour,
And tholed the pith o' mony a shower,
Rain, hail, and snaw:
Far distant be the destined hour
Whan thou maun fa'.
Disjeskit, like some faithless Jew,
Thy ha's are visited by few,
Except the howlet and the dow,
Wha haunt thy wa's;
Or thy black correspondin' yew,
The bield o' craws.
Thy ha's are visited by few,
Except the howlet and the dow,
Wha haunt thy wa's;
Or thy black correspondin' yew,
The bield o' craws.
To after times thou handest doun
The tricks o' vile Dunrode, the loon!
Wha fley'd the kintra roun' and roun'
Wi' cruel deeds;
By him, some 'neath the ice did drown,
Some tint their heads.
The tricks o' vile Dunrode, the loon!
Wha fley'd the kintra roun' and roun'
Wi' cruel deeds;
By him, some 'neath the ice did drown,
Some tint their heads.
340
And thou can witness bear thysel'
That aft, within thy gloomy cell,
Forth issues mony an irksome yell
Frae restless spectres,
Wha in your eerie chaumers dwell,
And haud their lectures.
That aft, within thy gloomy cell,
Forth issues mony an irksome yell
Frae restless spectres,
Wha in your eerie chaumers dwell,
And haud their lectures.
Whan winter frae the stormy wast
Drives o'er the plains the roarin' blast,
And clouds the yellow moon o'ercast,
Then, in thy biggin,
The whoop and yell o' ghaists ring fast
Frae floor to riggin'.
Drives o'er the plains the roarin' blast,
And clouds the yellow moon o'ercast,
Then, in thy biggin,
The whoop and yell o' ghaists ring fast
Frae floor to riggin'.
Aft roun' thy wa's the fairies meet,
And haud their balls, to music sweet:
They bob and wheel, wi' motion fleet,
Till Crawford granes;
Syne aff they scour, wi' lichtsome feet,
Across the plains.
And haud their balls, to music sweet:
They bob and wheel, wi' motion fleet,
Till Crawford granes;
Syne aff they scour, wi' lichtsome feet,
Across the plains.
And nightly, in thy murky cell,
Grim Hecate, wi' her hags o' hell,
Wi' gruesome charm and cantrip spell,
Stirs Dunrode up,
To drink the sour ingredients fell
O' their cursed cup.
Grim Hecate, wi' her hags o' hell,
Wi' gruesome charm and cantrip spell,
Stirs Dunrode up,
To drink the sour ingredients fell
O' their cursed cup.
I see the tortured monster stan',
Wi' the black bicker in his han',
Obedient to their stern comman',
Scour aff his potion,
While roun' him laughs the wrunkled ban',
Wi' de'il devotion.
Wi' the black bicker in his han',
Obedient to their stern comman',
Scour aff his potion,
While roun' him laughs the wrunkled ban',
Wi' de'il devotion.
Ilk gruesome grub and reptile vile
That shelters in auld Scotland's isle
In scunnersome hotch-potch they boil,
To feast the villain!
Whilk brings to min' his acts o' guile
Done in this dwellin'.
That shelters in auld Scotland's isle
In scunnersome hotch-potch they boil,
To feast the villain!
Whilk brings to min' his acts o' guile
Done in this dwellin'.
The ghaists o' them he wrang'd before
Rehearse his wicked tricks o' yore;
Wi' horror sweatin' at ilk pore
Hell's fire he feels;
Till, breinge, the broom-staves o' the core
Upon him reels.
Rehearse his wicked tricks o' yore;
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Hell's fire he feels;
Till, breinge, the broom-staves o' the core
Upon him reels.
“Swith!” loud they cry, wi' eerie skirl,
And aff to Styx the skellum whirl;
Syne Hecate on the roof doth dirl,
Wi' 'chantress'-wan',
And, quick, at her conjurin' tirl,
They flee aff-han'.
And aff to Styx the skellum whirl;
Syne Hecate on the roof doth dirl,
Wi' 'chantress'-wan',
And, quick, at her conjurin' tirl,
They flee aff-han'.
Thus pass the dreary nights away
Of mony a dull and cheerless day
Within thy caverns cauld and grey,
Till echo rings,
Roused by the cock's shrill morning lay,
When twilight springs.
Of mony a dull and cheerless day
Within thy caverns cauld and grey,
Till echo rings,
Roused by the cock's shrill morning lay,
When twilight springs.
In feudal pride, frae aff thy wa'
A score o' his ain pleughs he saw,
Drawn by his milk-white horses braw,
On his ain lawn;
And yet, watreck, he met his fa'
Frae his ain han'.
A score o' his ain pleughs he saw,
Drawn by his milk-white horses braw,
On his ain lawn;
And yet, watreck, he met his fa'
Frae his ain han'.
Cursed by the laws o' God and man,
Frae ill to waur the tyrant ran,
Till Ruin's fell Herculean han',
Past a' remead,
Low laid him, ghastly, pale, and wan,
Amang the dead!
Frae ill to waur the tyrant ran,
Till Ruin's fell Herculean han',
Past a' remead,
Low laid him, ghastly, pale, and wan,
Amang the dead!
For, ere he bade the yirth fareweel,
The wretch had neither hame nor biel',
But died, like ony beggar chiel',
For fau't o' meat;
Syne slippit to his frien' the de'il—
Oh, vile retreat!
The wretch had neither hame nor biel',
But died, like ony beggar chiel',
For fau't o' meat;
Syne slippit to his frien' the de'il—
Oh, vile retreat!
And now, auld venerable ruin,
Keen winter's sleety blasts are brewin',
Wha, gut and ga' indignant spewin',
May blaw thee owre,
A rubbish heap, through days ensuin',
'Neath Time's grim power.
Keen winter's sleety blasts are brewin',
Wha, gut and ga' indignant spewin',
May blaw thee owre,
A rubbish heap, through days ensuin',
'Neath Time's grim power.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |