220 MEMORIALS OF EDINBURGH.
Where Scotland’s nobles sate, as if in scorn
Or vain regret, o’er the deserted pile.
For centuries its paving had been worn
By courtiers, once unmatched in crafty guile,
By many a baron bold, and lovely dame,
And scions, too, of Scotland‘s royal line ;
While, from beneath, preferred a worthier claim
Names that with stern historic scenes entwine,
And some whose memory time has failed to keep,
Oblivious of the trust. Knox slumbers there,
Mingling with border chiefa that stilly sleep ;
And churl, and burgher bold, and haughty peer,
With those a people wept for, sharing now
The common lot, unhonoured and unknown.
Strange wreck, o’er ruins in the dust below ! .
Thrice deaecrated burial-place !
Where once were held in trust the noble d d
’Neath grassy hillock and memorial urn,-
With requiem graven only by their tread,
Whose steps forgotten generations spurn.
But civic sycophants,-a courtly tool,-
Bartered stone Cromwell for a Charles of lead,-
Ignoble meed for tyranny’s misrule,
To rear above the great dishonoured dead !
Fire, time, and modern taste,-the worst of all,-
Have swept in ruthless zeal across the scene
And the lead king and shadow on the wall,
Alone survive of all that once has been.
The Btone
