The half-faced moon shone dim and pale, Each steersman kept the helm aright, Sir Walter Scott. Castell Gloom. CASTELL GLOOM CASTLE GLOOM, better known as Castle Campbell, was a residence of the noble family of Argyll, from the middle of the fifteenth till the middle of the seventeenth century, when it was burned by the Marquis of Montrose. The castle is situated on a promontory of the Ochil hills, near the village of Dollar, in Clackmannanshire, and has long been in the ruinous condition described in the song. CASTELL GLOOM! thy strength is gone, The green grass o'er thee growin'; On hill of Care thou art alone, The Sorrow round thee flowin'. O Castell Gloom! on thy fair wa's The houlet flits amang thy ha's, And wild birds there are screamin'. O, mourn the woe, O, mourn the crime, O, mourn, Argyll, thy fallen line, Here ladies bright were aften seen, But a' are gane! the gude, the great, But ruin sittin' on thy wa's, Thy lofty Ochils bright did glow, And all was solitude. O, mourn the woe, O, mourn the crime, O, mourn, Argyll, thy fallen line, And mourn the great Montrose. Carolina, Baroness Nairne. 0, Castlecary. MARY OF CASTLECARY. SAW ye my wee thing? saw ye my ain thing? Saw ye my true-love, down on yon lea? Crossed she the meadow yestreen at the gloamin' ? Sought she the burnie whare flowers the haw-tree? Her hair it is lint-white; her skin it is milk-white; Dark is the blue o' her saft rolling e'e; Red, red her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses : "I saw na your wee thing, I saw na your ain thing, "It was na my wee thing, it was na my ain thing, It was na my true-love, ye met by the tree: Proud is her leal heart, modest her nature; She never lo'ed ony till ance she lo'ed me. Her name it is Mary; she 's frae Castlecary; Aft has she sat, when a bairn, on my knee: Fair as your face is, were 't fifty times fairer, Young bragger, she ne'er would gi'e kisses to thee." "It was, then, your Mary; she's frae Castlecary; It was, then, your true-love I met by the tree; · Proud as her heart is, and modest her nature, Sweet were the kisses that she ga'e to me." Sair gloomed his dark brow, blood-red his check grew; Wild flashed the fire frae his red rolling c'e, "Ye's rue sair, this morning, your boasts and your scorning; Defend ye, fause traitor! fu' loudly you lee." "Awa' wi' beguiling," cried the youth, smiling. Aff went the bounet; the lint-white locks flee; The belted plaid fa'ing, her white bosom shawing, Fair stood the lo'ed maid wi' the dark rolling e'e. "Is it my wee thing? is it my ain thing? Is it my true-love here that I see?" "O Jamie, forgi'e me! your heart's constant to me; I'll never mair wander, dear laddie, frae thee!" Hector Macneill. Castle-Gordon. CASTLE-GORDON. TREAMS that glide in Orient plains, Glowing here on golden sands, From tyranny's empurpled bands; Spicy forests, ever gay, Shading from the burning ray Helpless wretches sold to toil, Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil; |