II

There beats no heart on either border Wherethrough the north blasts blow But keeps your memory as a warder His beacon-fire aglow.

Long since it fired with love and wonder Mine, for whose April age Blithe midsummer made banquet under The shade of Hermitage.

Soft sang the burn's blithe notes, that gather Strength to ring true: And air and trees and sun and heather Remembered you.

Old border ghosts of fight or fairy Or love or teen, These they forgot, remembering Mary The Queen.