She rests no more upon the hill,
castle walls submerged in brackish green.
The loch has swallowed her whole .
The Faithful Gordon mourns,
Queen Mary's most unjust demise,
No longer free to roam her verdant shores.
Lochinvar fair castle rises not
above the shining loch in Galloway's hills,
So sing the bards with angelic voice.
Of echos past laughter rustling through,
the gray green trees and heathered hills
whisper riotlessly, yet no one hears.







17 old applause
