Chapter 134 No.134

The queen sits lone in Lithgow pile,

And weeps the weary day,

The war against her native soil,

Her monarch's risk in battle broil;

And in gay Holyrood the while

Dame Heron rises with a smile

Upon the harp to play.

Fair was her rounded arm, as o'er

The strings her fingers flew;

And as she touched and tuned them all,

Eve