Wander down the old castle road,
Wander down by the Firth,
Down to the old forsaken place
Once called Castellum –
Where by ruins on a full moon night,
Ghosts in hell-hound shape
Wander the place where men once fought
In days now long gone-by.
And touch the stone, the old black stone
By the paved ford long-forgot,
And touch her rounded poll and know
That as you are, they were too.
And enter the castle by the shores of the Firth
And behold her ruined piles,
And look upon the small stone wall
Newer-laid than all the rest.
Stare at the wolf, the running wolf
That runs along her side,
And the scratches upon her stones,
Three names writ on the wall –
The sharp, clear one, the jigging one
And the one of the swirling bird.
Who were these three who built this wall
In the castle by the Firth?
Of the three that writ upon the wall
There now only one remains.
And I shall tell you, that you may know
That he is faraway.
So wander down to the Firth someday
And down the old castle road.
Touch the stone, and touch the wall,
And remember the three who were there.