116 WALL-FLOWER. 



It sheds a halo of repose 



Around the wrecks of Time : 



To beauty give the flaunting Rose, — 



The Wall-flower is sublime. 



Flower of the solitary place ! 

 Grey Ruin's golden crown ! 

 That lendest melancholy grace 

 To haunts of old renown : 

 Thou mantlest o'er the battlement, 

 By strife or storm decay'd ; 

 And fillest up each envious rent 

 Time's canker-tooth hath made. 



Thy roots outspread the ramparts o'er 



Where, in war's stormy day. 

 The Douglases stood forth of yore 



In battle's grim array: 

 The clangour of the field is fled. 



The beacon on the hill 

 No more through midnight blazes red — 



But thou art blooming still ! 



Whither hath fled the choral band 



That fill'd the abbey's nave? 

 Yon dark sepulchral yew trees stand 



O'er many a level grave : 

 In the belfry's crevices the dove 



Her young brood nurseth well, 

 Whilst thou, lone flower, dost shed above 



A sweet decaying smell. 



