And Tien we „bet, så, ti

Coy Castle Campbell, thee!

Be grm storm-cion is overcast

Iven a spectre of the past,

Of rapine, feudal strife, and wont,

Thou tellest an old, wild, warlia
When squadrons on thy ramparts sted,
With spear and shield, in motial glory!

Fa" in the nignt of ages back,

Castle of Gloom, thy pile arose,

Wher, spurning legislation's track.

Each strath contained both friends and foes.

CASTLE CAMPBELL.

BY DELTA.

The ruins of Castle Campbell are romantically situated in a gorge of the Ochills, at the northern extremity of Clackmannanshire. It is of unknown antiquity, and passed into the hands of the Argyle family when the Scottish Court held their meetings in Dunfermline.

Its original designation was the "Castle of Gloom," from some wild, but unauthenticated legend, connected with its early history. Its name was altered to "Castle Campbell," by its subsequent proprietors.

BEHIND us tower the Ochills green
Before us winds the waveless sea,
And there we greet, superbly seen,
Grey Castle Campbell, thee!
By the grim storm-clouds overcast,
Even like a spectre of the past,
Of rapine, feudal strife, and blood,

Thou tellest an old, wild, warlike story,
When squadrons on thy ramparts stood,
With spear and shield, in martial glory!

Far in the night of ages back,

Castle of Gloom, thy pile arose,

When, spurning legislation's track,

Each strath contained both friends and foes;

Then passed unto Macaillian More
The drawbridge of thine entrance o'er;
And, while within Dunfermline grey
Each Celtic chief his king attended,
Power, pomp, and pride could'st thou display,
Than royalty's alone less splendid.

Then often here, where only now
We list the trickling of the rill,
The green leaf rustling on the bough,
The music of the linnet's bill,-

With quivered back and levelled spear,
The early hunters chased the deer
Through grove and glen with wild halloo,
Startling from eyrie high the eagle ;
And bugles shrill reveillé blew,

And soared the hawk, and bayed the beagle.

The times have altered: to the north

The gillies of Argyle have gone ;

And on thy battlements gleam forth

The wild flowers, where their tartans shone.

The days of chivalry have fled;

The red claymore is scabbarded :
No more for foray or for feud,

The fiery-cross a summons blazes,
And here, alone, on dark green wood,

And ruined walls, the traveller gazes.