Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/393

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Legend of the Wine Tower.

The Wine Tower is au old quadrangular building, rising from a rock which overhangs the sea, about fifty yards east from the Castle of Kinnaird's Head, Aberdeenshire.

Love wove a chaplet passing fair,
Within Kinnaird's proud tower;
Where joyous youth, and beauty rare,
Lay captive to his power.

But woe is me!—alack the day!
Pride spurned the simple wreath;
And scattering all those blooms away,
He doomed sweet love to death.

No bridal wreath, O maiden fair!
Thy brow shall e'er adorn;
A father's stern behest is there,
Of pride and avarice horn.

What boots to him thy vows, thy tears?
What boots thy plighted troth?
One rich in pelf, and hoar in years,
Is deemed of seemlier worth

Than he who with but love to guide,
Keeps tryst in yonder bower;
Where ruffians—hired by ruffian pride—
His stalwart limbs secure.



Where rolls old ocean's surging tide,
The Wine Tower beetling stands,
Right o'er a cavern deep and wide—
No work of mortal hands.

Dark as the dark expanse of hell,
That cavern's dreary space;
Whence never captive came to tell
The secrets of the place.

There bound in cruel fetters, lies
The lover fond and true;
No more to glad the maiden's eyes,
No more to bless her view!