THE THISTLE
A Legendary Ballad
'TWAS midnight! Darkness, like the gloom of some funereal pall,
Hung o'er the battlements of Slaines,—a fortress grim and tall.
The moon and stars were veiled in clouds, and from the Castle's height
No gleam of torch or taper pierced the shadows of the night;
Only the rippling of the Dee blent faintly with the sound
Of weary sentry-feet that paced their slow, unvarying round.
The Earl was sleeping like a child that hath no cause for fear;
The Warder hummed a careless song his lonely watch to cheer;