The sun o’er Dunse’s hills of grey,
Had nearly shed his parting light,
Save to the west, one lingering ray,
Seemed to forbid th’ approach of night;
And Lammermoor, with transient smile,
Now lighted up her visage bleak,
And every distant hill, the while,
Shone with a vivid, passing streak;
And Tweed’s broad river, from afar,
Blazed like a beacon flame of war:
Sure ’twould have pleased your heart to see
So much of grandeur, so much glee.
’Twas so to Dunse, when keen of sport
The Lothian sportsmen bent their way;
Her hostel then became a court;
If courts are jovial, courts are gay.
But why need I pretend to tell,
What to each chief or squire befel
In journeying that way.