Whilst these things were, the mournful Clare From prayer to book, from book to mass, The formal state, the lengthen'd prayer, II. I said, Tantallon's dizzy steep Hung o'er the margin of the deep. Many a rude tower and rampart there Repell'd the insult of the air, Which, when the tempest vex'd the sky, Above the rest, a turret square Which, mounted, gave you access where A parapet's embattled row Did seaward round the castle go. Sometimes in dizzy steps Above the booming ocean leant The billows burst, in ceaseless flow, Where'er Tantallon faced the land, Gate-works, and walls, were strongly mann'd; No need upon the sea-girt side; The steepy rock, and frantic tide, Approach of human step denied; And thus these lines, and ramparts rude, Were left in deepest solitude. III. And, for they were so lonely, Clare Or slow, like noontide ghost, would glide Look down with weary eye. Oft did the cliff, and swelling main, For she had laid adown, So Douglas bade, the hood and veil, And Benedictine gown: |