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 . . .