’Tis sweet, at summer’s noon, on thy high tower, When half obscured the sun looks softly bright, To view the amber heights of Lammermoor, Bathed in a misty veil of living light, While hill and dale alternate charm the sight, And hum of birds, and distant murmuring stream, Sound in the ear like music in the night, While, through the copsewood, Coalston’s turrets gleam, And still remind us of her Margaret’s ominous dream.