Through Crockston Castle's lanely wa's
The wintry wind howls wild and dreary;
Though mirk the cheerless e'ening fa's,
Yet I hae vow'd to meet my Mary.
Yes, Mary, though the winds should rave
Wi' jealous spite to keep me frae thee,
The darkest stormy night I 'd brave,
For ae sweet secret moment wi' thee.
Loud o'er Cardonald's rocky steep,
Rude Cartha pours in boundless measure;
But I will ford the whirling deep,
That roars between me and my treasure.
Yes, Mary, though the torrent rave,
Wi' jealous spite, to keep me frae thee,
Its deepest flood I 'd bauldly brave,
For ae sweet secret moment wi' thee.
The watch-dog's howling loads the blast,
And makes the nightly wand'rer eerie;
But when the lonesome way is past,
I 'll to this bosom clasp my Mary!
Yes, Mary, though stern winter rave,
With a' his storms, to keep me frae thee,
The wildest dreary night I 'd brave,
For ae sweet secret moment wi' thee.
[82] The ruin of Crockston Castle is situated on the brow of a gentle
eminence, about three miles south-east of Paisley. The Castle, in the
twelfth century, was possessed by a Norman family, of the name of Croc;
it passed, in the following century, by the marriage of the heiress,
into a younger branch of the House of Stewart, who were afterwards
ennobled as Earls of Lennox. According to tradition, Queen Mary and Lord
Darnley occasionally resided in the castle; and it is reported that the
unfortunate princess witnessed from its walls the fall of her fortunes
at the battle of Langside. Crockston Castle is now the possession of Sir
John Maxwell, Bart., of Pollock.