A V（1 / 1）

a vision

as i stood by yon roofless tower,

where the wa&039;flower scents the dewy air,

where the howlet ourns her ivy bower,

and tells the idnight oon her care

the ds were id, the air was still,

the stars they shot ang the sky;

the fox was howlg on the hill,

and the distant echog glens reply

the strea, adown its hazelly path,

was rhg by the ru&039;d wa&039;s,

hastg to jo the sweepg nith,

whase distant roarg swells and fa&039;s

the cauld be north was streag forth

her lights, wi&039; hissg, eerie d;

athwart the lift they start and shift,

like fortune&039;s favors, tt as

by heedless chance i turn&039;d e eyes,

and, by the oonbea, shook to see

a stern and stalwart ghaist arise,

attir&039;d as strels wont to be

had i a statue been o&039; stane,

his darg look had daunted ;

and on his bon grav&039;d was p,

the sacred posy—“libertie!”

and frae his harp sic stras did flow,

ight ro&039;d the sb&039;rg dead to hear;

but oh, it was a tale of woe,

as ever t a briton&039;s ear!

he sang wi&039; joy his forr day,

he, weepg, wailed his tter tis;

but what he said—it was nae py,

i na venture&039;t y rhys