The Hostel, or Inn, III

The sun o’er Dunse’s hills of grey, Had nearly shed his parting light, Save to the west, one lingering ray, Seemed to forbid th’ approach of night; And Lammermoor, with transient smile, Now lighted up her visage bleak, And every distant hill, the while, Shone with a vivid, passing streak; And Tweed’s broad river, from afar, Blazed like a beacon flame of war: Sure ’twould have pleased your heart to see So much of grandeur, so much glee. ’Twas so to Dunse, when keen of sport The Lothian sportsmen bent their way; Her hostel then became a court; If courts are jovial, courts are gay. But why need I pretend to tell, What to each chief or squire befel In journeying that way.