The Palace Of Holyrood Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The Darnley jewel still sparkles like the spring
King David hunted here, through passing showers
His falcon soared on predatory wings

Today, at garden parties strewn with flowers
The honoured guests and servants stroll around
Where Royal favour still exerts its powers

Rizzio's murder here stains regal ground
Does he still walk on eerie, starless night
Where Mary Queen of Scots no respite found?

Here Knox harassed the queen with rage and spite
When, for her home in France her heart did ache
When life was all romance, warmth and delight

Monastery, Palace, Order of the Thistle
The Royal Standard shows the lion's mettle

These ancient stones hold memories of dancing,
The crunch of Cromwell's soldiers' heavy tread
The hectic hooves of Jacobite troops fleeing,

Sunset turns the ruined abbey red,
Imagine a lone archer flex his blow
The Earl of Bothwell in his bridal bed

Imagine swish as courtiers' wives bow low,
The Stewart dynasty's sweet nest until
The winds of change across the county blow

Once clarsach strings the gallery did fill
With some forgotten minstrel's mellow air)
That rose to Arthur's Seat, from park to hill:

Lie peaceful now the wicked and the good
Entwined within the roots of Holyrood