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And from the citadel of Ayr
What sable cools the pilgrims have
Who leave behind Saint Marnock's grave!
As venerably as when they
Process on Dedication day.
Well may you note each order'd class
By cabalistic figur'd dress;
On velvet zone, and apron fine,
Bright glitters crescent, cross, and trine; Which grand Sir Knights of each degree
Shew them undoubtedly to be,
Who for our bless'd Redeemer's sake
Did solemn vows upon them take,
To walk like pilgrims, or with brand,
By force to take the Holy Land,
From front to rear, the mystic row.
Brown Carrick-hill they now ascend, Now by Saint Ringan's Well they wend And, as the sun sinks in the main, They pass the draw-bridge of Culzean.
Up flee the castle gates, and all
Are usher'd first into the hall ;
Red crusted with the blood of those
For Morven's mighty Monarch made
And spear of Swaran, broke in war;
Still wet with Everallen's tears;
Arranged on farther, full in sight,
Sir David Lindsay's brand and shield,
Wore by the witch of Lockerbie.
When guards, and gates, and hall they've
The grand state chamber opes at last;
All wonder at the bed of state,
Upon the quilt, in clusters set,
Design'd so well, that all appears
To represent a shower of tears.
The canopy presents a dart
Deep rankled in a bleeding heart;
To show how fleet our moments pass,
With wings is seen a minute glass ;
The bell is rung, and ev'ry class
To separate apartments pass,
On soul-cake, sauce, and large sirloin;
of Death, the theme of woe,
In mournful numbers 'rises slow
From lyre and lip of bard, whose grief
Is great for the departed chief;
In ages erst, so sweet a strain
Ne'er raised the echo's of Culzean :
Or with the heaven-taught songs, I ween, Perform'd before the Scottish Queen.
But as upon the wings of Time
High-blooded steeds, in black array'd
Draws to the castle portico;
Behind it first comes into sight
The empty carriage of the Knight;