Attempt > Volume 1 and Select writings

116
THE ATTEMPT
Onwards we passed through our “ romantic town,”
On which Dunedin’s castle old looks down,
Till Holyrood’s vast stately pile appeared,
As high its roofs and rounded turrets reared:
There, still in beauty, hut in ruins, stood
The ancient chapel of the Holy Eood,
A relic of those long-forgotten days,
On which the antiquary loves to gaze.
But soon the town itself was left behind,
With all that charms the antiquary’s mind,
And round the drive that bears our Sov’reign’s name,
With pleasure-taking step we onwards came:
We passed the lake, on which, with sails of snow,
Light, tiny harks were heaving to and fro,
And o’er the gentle ripples seemed to ride,
As giant ships o’er ocean’s swelling tide.
There, standing in relief against the sky,
Famed Arthur’s Seat arose with pride on high,
The prickly furze, with golden-winged bloom,
Diffusing far and wide its rich perfume.
O’er the green sward, with footsteps light and free,
The merry lambkins gambolled in their glee,
While their grave, ruminating mothers lay,
Or slowly walked, to while the time away.
Amidst the hills, Dunsappie’s silver sheet
Murmured in tiny ripples at our feet;
Ranunculus, from water drawing sap,
Lay calmly floating on the lake’s clear lap;
While tiny minnows darted to and fro,
Now near the bank, now in the depths below.
At length to home we all returned once more,
And all our sights and doings counted o’er;
Till evening came, and then the hour of rest,
To weary limbs and sleepy eyes the best.
S.