Requiem Second, XXXVI

The sun, beyond the Pentland’s ridge, Had given the skies a rainbow hue, When crossing Tyne on osier bridge The crowd the funeral’s march pursue; The evening dews are falling chill, The mountain cock with crimson eye, And jetty wing, has sought the hill Where mists are shadowing far the sky; While in the skirts of Lammermoor The tod peeps from his den secure, And sees afar the dusky crowd Move on, like summer’s passing cloud, In slow and stately majesty, When scarce a breeze is wafting by; And as they pass near ancient Cnolle, Fair Preston’s bell begins to toll, For they have almost reach’d the goal Of this eventful day; And, as by winding Tyne they turn, Clearer the funeral torches burn, Seen through the twilight’s grey.