Why tarries the knight in his lonely way
At yon cairn on flowery Ferness holm?
Why scans he yon pillar, so rough and grey,
That rises from out its rudely-heaped dome?
’Twas there the love-twined youth and maid,
Unsevered in death, were sadly laid;
And there did King Fergus and Sewyn weep
When they found them locked in death’s cold sleep,
And Findhorn still lingers around their grave,
And sighs for their fate with repentant wave.