Weird and mystic is the story
Shrouded in forgotten lore,
How the Royal Stone of Scotland
Found a place on Scotland's shore.
No human hands e'er fashioned it,
Nor shaped its rugged form;
It thundered down the mountain side,
Dislodged by Alpine storm.
'Twas pillow for the weary head
At Bethel on the night
When Jacob's raptured vision saw
The ladder crowned with light.
A thousand years passed o'er it
In many climes and lands—
The throne of savage princes,
Who ruled their heathen bands.
Ere the Assyrian hosts were shattered,
Sleeping all the sleep of death,
Smitten in their battle harness,
Blasted by the angel's breath;
Ere the star of Rome had risen
Glorious after many wars,
Ere she first was led to battle
By the wolf-nursed son of Mars;
The southern breeze blew softly,
And filled the Spanish sail,
That bore to Erin's monarch
The mystic Lia Fail.
Great Fergus seized the trophy,
And on it, by God's grace,
Was crowned in bonnie Scotland
First prince of Scottish race.
O'er a long line of heroes—
Old Caledonia's kings,
The sacred Stone of Destiny
A mystic glory flings.
And now the Royal City
On Thames' historic shore
Enshrines the throne of Fergus,
The Lia Fail of yore.