Chanted by the heavenly band,
Who can fully understand
How sweet ye be!

CASTELL GLOOM.[58]

Oh, 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'.
Oh, Castell Gloom! on thy fair wa's
Nae banners now are streamin',
The houlet flits amang thy ha's,
And wild birds there are screamin'.
Oh! mourn the woe, oh! mourn the crime,
Frae civil war that flows;
Oh! mourn, Argyll, thy fallen line,
And mourn the great Montrose.

Here ladies bright were aften seen,
Here valiant warriors trod;
And here great Knox has aften been,
Wha fear'd nought but his God!
But a' are gane! the guid, the great,
And naething now remains,
But ruin sittin' on thy wa's,
And crumblin' down the stanes.
Oh! mourn the woe, &c.

Thy lofty Ochils bright did glow,
Though sleepin' was the sun;
But mornin's light did sadly show,
What ragin' flames had done.
Oh, mirk, mirk was the misty cloud,
That hung o'er thy wild wood!
Thou wert like beauty in a shroud,
And all was solitude.
Oh! mourn the woe, &c.

[58] 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 burnt by the Marquis of
Montrose--an enterprise to which he was excited by the Ogilvies, who
thus sought revenge for the destruction, by the Marquis of Argyll, of
the "bonnie house of Airlie." 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. Two hill
rivulets, designated _Sorrow_ and _Care_, proceed on either side of the
castle promontory. John Knox, the Reformer, for some time resided in
Castle Gloom, with Archibald, fourth Earl of Argyll, and here preached
the Reformed doctrines.

BONNIE GASCON HA'.

Lane, on the winding Earn there stands
An unco tow'r, sae stern an' auld,
Biggit by lang forgotten hands,
Ance refuge o' the Wallace bauld.

Time's restless fingers sair hath waur'd
And rived thy gray disjaskit wa',
But rougher hands nor Time's hae daur'd
To wrang thee, bonnie Gascon Ha'!

Oh, may a muse unkent to fame