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 houlit 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, Argyle, 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,
Who feared nought but his God.
But a' are gane ! the gude, the great,
And naething now remains,
But ruin sitting on thy wa's,
And crumblin' down the stanes!
The lofty Ochils bright did glow,
Tho' 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, oh mourn the
crime,
Frae civil war that flows;
Oh! mourn, Argyle, thy fallen line,
And mourn the great Montrose.
