Lydia Huntley Sigourney

At the Grave of Sir Walter Scott

THOU slumberest with the noble dead
  In Dryburgh’s solemn pile,
Amid the peers and warriors bold,
And mitred abbots stern and old,
  Who sleep in sculptured aisle;
Where, stained with dust of buried years,
The rude sarcophagus appears
  In mould imbedded deep;
And Scotia’s skies with azure gleaming,
Are through the oriel windows streaming,
  Where ivied masses creep;
And, touched with symmetry sublime,
The moss-clad towers that mock at time
  Their mouldering legends keep.