CRAIGMILLAR CASTLE. AN ELEGY.
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HOM.
Without the Gods, how short a period stands
The proudest monument of mortal hands!
POPE.
EDINBURGH: Printed for the AUTHOR, and sold by all the Booksellers.
M.DCC.LXXVI.
TO JAMES BEATTIE, LL. D. PROFESSOR OF LOGIC, AND MORAL PHILOSOPHY, IN THE UNIVERSITY OF ABERDEEN, THIS ELEGY IS INSCRIBED, AS A MARK OF THE GREATEST ESTEEM BY
THE AUTHOR.
CRAIGMILLAR CASTLE, AN ELEGY.
WROTE IN SEPTEMBER M,DCC,LXXV.
THE Sun, declining o'er the western sky,
In roseat splendor clos'd his circling course,
And ting'd the clouds with many a varied dye,
When, following Fancy's ever-flowing source
Of cool poetic joy, I bent my way
Tow'rd a majestic Castle's ruins wide;
Within whose gates once royalty bore sway,
And for a season laid its cares aside.
The bleating flocks were pent within the fold;
The jovial reapers long had left the vale;
The plowman at his cheary fire-side told
The merry story, or the mournful tale.
Now SOL had gone to other worlds to rise,
And all the place to silence was resign'd;
While on the ruin fixed were my eyes,
A pleasing melancholy fill'd my mind.
Comparing present things with past, a tear
Starting from either eye down gently stole;
Tho' from my heart wrung by reflection drear,
A tear which pity wish'd not to control!
While yielding thus to lenient grief, I deem'd
A rushing noise I heard, and looking round,
A sudden light effulgent on me beam'd,
And all my soul in admiration bound.
Upon the hill descended from on high,
A BEING far transcending human kind:
I gaz'd upon him as he glided nigh,
His form engaging all my pensive mind.
An azure robe, of a celestial dye,
Around him wildly wanton'd in the breeze:
Bare were his feet; his looks did seem to vye
With new-fall'n snow that tips the aged trees.
Placid and mild his look, yet conscious seem'd
Of majesty, and piercing was his eye,
That flashing with a heav'nly ardor gleam'd,
As form'd with ease to scan earth, sea, and sky.
His decent footstops with a silver wand
Were guided, as majestically slow
Tow'rd me he calm advanc'd, and took his stand
Beside me, lost in Pity's balmy woe.
"AH, mortal! (said he) thou art mov'd in vain
"To see all human grandeur yield to Fate,
"When from its fall thou shouldst essay to gain
"Instruction, not bewail its fallen state.
"'Tis my delight, at fall of dewy eve,
"To visit and converse with mortals good,
"My heav'nly dictates who with joy receive
"In the low cot, or 'mid the shady wood.
"The vain magnificence of man may prove
"My present mournfully instructive theme,
"Whose fate observ'd, might ev'n the proudest move
"To own all earthly pomp a fleeting dream."
Thus, while he spoke, I recogniz'd the pow'r
Of CONTEMPLATION, radiant son of Truth;
When empty joys invite, or sorrows lowr,
The comforter of age, the guide of youth.
For often he my lone sequester'd cot
Had deign'd to visit, where he taught my soul
Tranquilly to enjoy life's chequer'd lot,
And each impetuous passion to control.
"Behold (he thus resum'd) yon turrets high,
"The once proud ornaments of that strong tow'r;
"Now rent and shatter'd by th' inclement sky,
"Scarce rests the vestige of their former pow'r.
"Th' approaching foe by no portcullis dire,
"Nor bar of massy iron, nor steady gate,
"Would now be forc'd disdainful to retire,
"And leave a strength unworthy of his hate.
"Upon this moat, once as a sea profound,
"Which erst no daring footstep ever trode,
"The wanton infant now may sportive bound,
"And harmless lambs chuse a secure abode.
"The room where arms in horrid order plac'd
"A glimmering light reflected to the eye,
"Is now with instruments of labour grac'd;
"There sword to sickle chang'd thou may'st descry.
"That chamber, where the Queen, whose charms divine
"Made wond'ring nations own the pow'r of love,
"Oft bath'd her snowy limbs in sparkling wine,
"Now proves a lonely refuge for the dove.
"Yon hall capacious, where the flowing bowl
"Inspir'd convivial mirth, unblam'dly free,
"Unfolded all the secrets of the soul,
"And whelm'd each care in heart-enliv'ning glee.
"Where the love-kindling lute, and sounding lyre,
"Rapt all the mind, or in soft pleasure drown'd;
"Where the hoarse trumpet rouzing martial fire,
"Made vaulted roof and rocky walls resound.
"There sullen silence reigns, and there the owl
"Makes her abode that loves the gloomy night;
"Thence not the least noise rises, save the howl
"Of bats, and beasts obscene that shun the light.
"Yon mould'ring chapel, which in days of yore
"To some romantic saint was sacred made,
"Where th' early priest his matins murmur'd o'er,
"And said his numerous masses for the dead;
"There now each noxious animal and weed
"In baleful darkness dwells: And where the cross
"Was plac'd, the henbane spreads a deadly shade;
"And the foul toad conceal'd lyes in the moss.
"See o'er the place deep melancholy reigns
"Where splendor once diffus'd its brightest day;
"And of a palace ev'n these poor remains
"Will soon to nameless ruin drop a prey.
"Such fate awaits all sublunary things,
"Save those that rest on VIRTUE'S firm support;
"She aid alone 'gainst Time's fell ravage brings,
"And smiles secure at Fortune's cruel sport."
Thus while he spoke, his robe expanding wide,
Majestic as a cherub still he stood;
Then thro' the liquid air was seen to glide,
And, swift ascending, gain'd his blest abode.
I silent turning from the eastern seas
Behold the full-orb'd moon refulgent rise;
No fluttering zephyr fans the yellow trees,
Each breathe in gentle cadence softly dies.
The strepent horn no more the hills rebound,
But all the air is wrapt in stillness mild,
Save where the far-off curfeu's solemn sound
Steals on the ear, melodiously wild!
Fair CYNTHIA'S ray, swift-gliding as she rose,
First mark'd the place where a proud vessel lay,
Which in the lulling calm seem'd to repose,
While not a gale its slagging sails did sway.
Then slow that tow'ring hill to view disclos'd,
At whose wide base a princely palace stands;
And by it, to each ruthless storm expos'd,
A sacred ruin;—shame of modern hands!
Sure SCOTIA'S kings august, and heroes brave,
Claim the most splendid honours of the tomb;
To them their country who but liv'd to save,
No longer be deny'd the grateful dome!
Soon all EDINA'S glories rose to sight,
Her lofty spires, her castle proudly strong;
The distant
Forth reflecting the pale light,
As slow he flow'd the laughing fields among.
Autumn her golden mantle o'er the land
Had cast; each sound was hush'd in silence still,
Save where the rivulet murmur'd thro' the sand;
The snowey moon-light sleep'd on every hill.
A scene so sweetly solemn Fancy's eye
Survey'd with rapture and tranquil delight;
But while she softly breath'd a parting sigh,
Resign'd its beauties to the silent night.
THE END.
NOTES.
Stanza II. 3. Royalty bore sway, &c.]
QUEEN MARY resided at Craigmillar Castle in the month of November 1566, during the time that preparations were made for baptizing her son JAMES VI. at Stirling. Knox, Buchan. lib. 18. &c.—It appears from the letters supposed to have been wrote by her to Bothwell, that she intended to have brought her husband Henry Darnly to the bath at this place; but he not chusing it, and proceeding to the Kirk of Field, was there murdered. Goodal, vol. II.
Page 7. St. IV. 3. Whose fate, &c.]
Muoiono le citta▪ muoiono i regni,
Copre i fasti e le pompe arena, ed herba.
E l' huom d' esser mortal parche si sdegni:
O nostra mente cupida e superba!
TASSO.
P. S. St. V. 3. Oft hath'd, &c.]
It was a custom of this beautiful Princess to bathe herself in white wine, as a preservative of her charms. In this she was not singular, it being frequent with the Ladies of that age, when the progress of the liberal arts began to be attended with proportional refinements in luxury. Jaques du Fouilloux, one of the Beaux Esprits of that period, enumerating the arts with which a country girl, of whom he was enamoured, disdained to improve her person, particularly mentions this: ‘Point ne prenoit vin blanc pour se baigner. L' Adolescence de Jaques du Fouilloux.’
P. 9. St. V. 1. See o'er the place, &c.]
Haec sunt quas merito quondam est mirata Vetustas
Magnarum rerum magna sepulchra vides.
C. LABERIUS de ruinis Athen.
St. penult. l. 4. Snowey Moon-light.]
Quo solet et niveae
vuttum confundere lunae.
OVID.
Ib. Moon-light sleep'd.]
This bold figure is taken from the Poet of Nature: ‘How sweet the moon-light sleeps upon this bank! Merchant of Venice, Act V. Sc. 1.’
FINIS.