Above the Crags that fade and gloom br Starts the bare knee of Arthur's Seat; br Ridged high against the evening bloom, br The Old Town rises, street on street; br With lamps bejewelled, straight ahead, br Like rampired walls the houses lean, br All spired and domed and turreted, br Sheer to the valley's darkling green; br Ranged in mysterious disarray, br The Castle, menacing and austere, br Looms through the lingering last of day; br And in the silver dusk you hear, br Reverberated from crag and scar, br Bold bugles blowing points of war.