The castle looketh dark without; Within the rooms are cold and dreary; The chill light from the window fades; The fire it burneth all uncheery. With meek hands cross'd beside the hearth, The pale and anxious mother sitteth; And now she listens to the bat That, screaming, round the window flitteth. _Mary Howitt._ Ten miles eastward from the Cross of Edinburgh, and two southward from the sandy shore of the Firth of Forth, stands an old and ruined fortalice, named the Castle of Fawside, on a green ridge which rises by gradual and gentle undulations, to the height of three hundred feet above the sea.…
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