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Canto VI.
And pour’d its silver light, and pure,
Through loop-hole, and through embrazure,
Upon Tantallon tower and hall;
But chief where arched windows wide
Illuminate the chapel’s pride,
The sober glances fall.
Much was there need ; though, seam’d with scars.
Two veterans of the Douglas’ wax's,
Though two grey priests were thei'e,
And each a blazing torch held high,
You coxild not by their blaze descry
The chapel’s carving fair.
Amid that dim and smoky light,
Chequering the silvery moon-shine bright,
A Bishop by the altar stood,
A noble lord of Douglas’ blood,
With mitre sheen, and rocquet white.
Yet shew’d his meek and thoughtful eye
But little pride of prelacy;
More pleased that, in a barbarous age,
He gave rude Scotland Virgil’s page,

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