Poem by Anonymous

The Bells of Fletching

THE FLETCHING bells, with silver chime,
  Come softened o’er the distant shore;
Though I have heard them many a time,
  They never sang so sweet before.

A silence rests upon the hill,
  A listening awe pervades the air;
The very flowers are shut and still,
  And bowed as if in prayer.

1. Gathering of Atholl
2. The Banks o’ Glaizart
3. The Aisle of Tombs
4. Sir Richard Whittington’s Advancement
5. The Cave of Pope

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