| |
| BROKEN Dunstaffnage by the western sea, | |
| Thou art as dark as any old misdeed | |
| Committed in thy lonely towers could be! | |
| Thou ’rt like a life too gloomy to succeed, | |
| That preys upon itself and dies of need. | 5 |
| Yet thou wert born in History’s early dawn, | |
| Of warlike race and brood, a stately thing | |
| Created strong and fearless to adorn | |
| The vales that wooed thee for thy sheltering. | |
| To-day what valley of them all takes heed | 10 |
| Of thee? They smile and dance beneath the corn— | |
| E’en the great ocean flaunts thee with its scorn! | |
| Now hath a new-born babe more power than thou, | |
| For it hath life,—thine perished long ago. | |
| And yet, Dunstaffnage, I should do thee wrong, | 15 |
| Thou, who hast held great Scotland in amaze, | |
| To image piteous these later days | |
| And leave thy glorious memories unsung! | |
| Within thee when the Christian world was young, | |
| Twelve centuries ago, fame’s minstrels sang, | 20 |
| Whispered thy name and victory’s bugles rang! | |
| Great kings anointed here with blast of song, | |
| With trumpets blowing and with clash of spears | |
| Knelt to the patriarch of their royal years, | |
| The holy stone, 1 that Scone deprived thee of | 25 |
| When first men ceased to fear thee and to love! | |
| Thou great Dunstaffnage, though we cannot save | |
| Thy life, we may at least revere thy grave! | |
