Chapter 158 No.158

I said, Tantallon's dizzy steep

Hung o'er the margin of the deep.

Many a rude tower and rampart there

Repelled the insult of the air,

Which, when the tempest vexed the sky,

Half breeze, half spray, came whistling by.

Above the rest, a turret square

Did o'er its Gothic entrance bear,

Of sculpture rude, a stony shield;

The