Falkland's Invitation to Prince Leopold.
O wherefore stand I here, and curious gaze
Upon this wind-swept Arch, grey, grim, and cold?
Sure, in themselves, these apathetic stones
No lesson read; this massive portal tends
To yonder sheltered precincts, and beyond
To shrub-bestudded lawns, and gentle slopes
And ample terraces - the many pass,
Unthinking as they haste, these rigid bounds,
Eager to reach the inner walls and towers,
And shady groves, but ne'er a glance bestow
Upon this relic of the royal Past.
Hath then this silent Arch no tale to tell?
Pause, stranger, pause, for had these stomes a voice,
Their communings with themes historical
Were fraught, and what is deeply shrouded now
In mystery, or of Oblivion veiled,
No more were pent, to slumber unrevealed.
Whose brain contrived, whose hands upbuilded
thee?
The memory of one and all is gone.
What Monarch bade thy double towers uprear
In haughty dignity, to tell the realm
This was a regal seat? Who may proclim
His title? Not the learn'ed of the land
Who dub thee "ancient" ere a Palace rose
On castellated fragments at the will
Of the proud Stuart kings.
This narrow span
Hath in its time embraced, hath frowned upon
The noblest in the land, the basest too.
Under this stony canopy have passed
Monarch and Minister, the haughty peer,
They wily envoy, courtier, sycophant,
The soldier and the priest, the leal of soul,
The schemer and the traitor to the throne,
The dauntless and the weak, a long array.
Hither the chivalry of Scotland came
In days of yore, to cluster eager round
The seat of royalty; in early morn
A lengthy train would through the portal wend,
Accoutred for the chase, the keen-eyed James
Their royal leader. Falkland's spacious Park
Anon received them, and right merrily
Rang the clear hunting-horn in wood and brake.
Hence, too, did frequent issue Scotland's Queen,
The fated Mary; but in days before
Misfortune shadowed her young life - she loved
The shapely Lomonds and the gentle craft
Of Falconry, and joyous sped the hour --
Too brief, alas!-of freedom.
From this Arch
Th' ungainly form of James, sixth of his name,
Hath ofttimes passed. The subtle Monarch loved
This tranquil inland home, and here held court
And lingered, till this modest spot became
The centre of intrigue, ere England called
The meanest of the Stuarts to her throne.
And thou, O Fife, wer't destined to bestow
Her future dynasties upon the State,
For in Dunfermline Charles first saw the light;
Elizabeth in Falkland. Children both
Of the sixth James were they, and Destiny
Hurled the descendants of the martyred King
From Britain's throne, while there she seated firm
The offspring of Elizabeth, to reign
Congenial o'er the realm.
Thus Falkland gave
Elizabeth, and she in turn bestowed
Upon our land a freedom-loving line
Of Monarchs, who, unlike the Stuart kings,
Prate not of right divine, and from whose lips
The word "prerogative" flows not to rouse
A nation's ire; who, loyal to themselves
And to the people, dignify the State.
And thou, O Son of an illustrious Queen,
Who in the footsteps of thy studious sire
Dost earnest walk, delightest thou, O Prince,
To con the vivid page of History?
So be it; Falkland merits thy regard --
Falkland! thine ancestor's palatial home,
The birthplace of the Founder of thy House.
Then visit, kindly Leopold, these scenes
Encircled by traditions of thy race.
Twice hath thy royal presence honoured Fife,
But this grey Pile in vain awaited thee.
When next thou comest to our "Kingdom's" bounds
O pass not by this shattered Monument
Of the proud Stuarts' fall; these battled walls
And hoary towers will proudly smile upon
A scion of old Scotland's royalty
Long alienated this once favoured spot;
For know, O Prince, that since the gloomy day
Which forced the second Charles to wander hence,
Downcast and sceptreless, none of thy race
Have trod the Lomond side, nor wended through
This massive Arch, that entrance gave of yore
To Scotland's kings who loved the Falconland.
I'd love to have you drop by!--Barbara
