O listen, listen, ladies gay!
No haughty feat of arms I tell;
Soft is the note, and sad the lay
That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.

-Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew!
And, gentle lady, deign to stay!
Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch,
Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day.

-The blackening wave is edged with white;
To inch and rock the sea-mews fly;
The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite,
Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh.

-Last night the gifted Seer did view
A wet shroud swathed round lady gay;
Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch;
Why cross the gloomy firth to-day?-

-Tis not because Lord Lindesay-s heir
Tonight at Roslin leads the ball,
But that my lady-mother there
Sits lonely in her castle-hall.

-Tis not because the ring they ride,
And Lindesay at the ring rides well,
But that my sire the wine will chide
If -tis not fill-d by Rosabelle.-

-O-er Roslin all that dreary night
A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam;
-Twas broader than the watch-fire-s light,
And redder than the bright moonbeam.

It glared on Roslin-s castled rock,
It ruddied all the copse-wood glen;
-Twas seen from Dryden-s groves of oak,
And seen from cavern-d Hawthornden.

Seem-d all on fire that chapel proud
Where Roslin-s chiefs uncoffin-d lie,
Each Baron, for a sable shroud,
Sheathed in his iron panoply.

Seem-d all on fire within, around,
Deep sacristy and altar-s pale;
Shone every pillar foliage-bound,
And glimmer-d all the dead men-s mail.

Blazed battlement and pinnet high,
Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair-
So still they blaze, when fate is nigh
The lordly line of high Saint Clair.

There are twenty of Roslin-s barons bold
Lie buried within that proud chapelle;
Each one the holy vault doth hold
But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle!

And each Saint Clair was buried there
With candle, with book, and with knell;
But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung
The dirge of lovely Rosabelle.