Where Two Hawks Fly

I walk alone where two hawks fly

Where once was heard the bairnie's cry

Where water runs in the rankle burn

On the broken bridge grows green among the fern

The lonely heron stands gray and still

The silent guardian o'er the hill

His watch is shared by the tombstone tall

Ancient music echoes in the crumblin' wall

The harp, the flute, the pipe and drum

Are signal for them all to come

To lay aside the spear and bow

On? the feasting board where wine and laughter flow

What castle then, what castle now?

The farmer stands, commands the view

The crescent moon hangs above the door

And the spirits softly tread the kitchen floor . . .