'Arbroath
Abbey'
Thomas Watson
___
LONE lingering in the old Churchyard,
 And
gazing on these mouldering walls,
The stately pile of other days
The
recreative mind recalls.
Deep musing here, as day declines,
And
silence lulls the dinsome town,
I needs must dream of ages past,
Ere
creed and Church were overthrown.
I tread a roofless temple floor,
Where
many a pilgrim foot hath trod ;
I stand where brave King Robert knelt—
Wave,
Fancy ! wave thy magic rod !
Ha ! see uprise the ponderous walls—
Upshoot
the clustering columns high :
The roof is arching o'er my head,
Upheld
between me and the sky.
And see the transept circle bright,
So
high above the tuneful choir,
Pours down a flood of rainbow light
On
king and priest, and knight and squire ;
And shivered in a thousand rays
On
pillar, cusp, and carving quaint—
Illuming mask and dusty niche,
And
many a rudely-sculptured saint.
Where huge columnar shadows throw
Their
giant length along the nave,
Are kneeling, hushed in reverent awe,
Rude
men of iron, fierce and brave ;
But helm is not on warrior's head,
Nor
hauberk on his shoulders there ;
No mailed hand makes the sacred sign,
No
armed heel treads the house of prayer. |
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...continued
Now,
hark ! the Abbot lifts his voice,
And
prays for Scotland and her king ;
That Jesu from His heavenly throne
Would
look upon our sorrowing,
And pity this war-wasted land ;
That
Mary, Virgin Queen, mote plead
That He would will poor Scotland's weal,
And
shield her in her utmost need.
Now solemn music thrills my ear ;
The
choir chant forth the sacred strain
That echoing peals from arch to arch,
And
swells through all the mighty fane ;
Seems every stone to find a tongue,
And
joins the choral hymn of praise,
To melt the fierce and vengeful men
That
know not mercy's gentle ways.
And now beyond the sacred gates
I
hear the tramp of harnessed men,
The clank of steel, the neigh of steed ;
I
see a knight and goodly train ;
He bears a scroll—oh ! now I know !
They
mount, they vanish while I gaze,
And bear the bold protest to Rome
That
will the monkish world amaze.
I turn my dream-bewildered eyes :
Alas
! what do I now behold ?
A roofless ruin all around,
Through
which the night wind bloweth cold.
But yet I love these mould'ring walls :
'Twas
here in early days I played,—
My father's and my mother's bones
Within
this hallowed ground are laid. |
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