WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST?

VI

WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST?

(SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART.)

WHERE shall the lover rest,

Whom the fates sever,

From his true maiden's breast,

Parted for ever?

Where, through groves deep and high,

Sounds the far billow;

Where early violets die,

Under the willow.

Eleu loro.

Soft shall be his pillow.

There through the summer day,
Cool streams are laving;
There where the tempests sway,
Scarce are boughs waving;

There thy rest shalt thou take,

Parted for ever,

Never again to wake,

Never, O never,

Eleu loro.

Never, O never.

WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST?

Where shall the traitor rest,
He the deceiver,

Who could win maiden's breast,
Ruin, and leave her?

In the lost battle,

Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle

With groans of the dying,

Eleu loro.

There shall he be lying.

Her wing shall the eagle flap

O'er the false-hearted;

His warm blood the wolf shall lap,
E'er life be parted;
Shame and dishonor sit

By his grave ever;
Blessing shall hallow it-
Never, O never,

Eleu loro.

Never, O never.

HIGHLAND MARY

VII

HIGHLAND MARY

(ROBERT BURNS)

YE banks, and braes, and streams around The castle o' Montgomery,

Green be your woods and fair your flowers,
Your waters never drumlie!

There simmer first unfauld her robes,
An' there the langest tarry;
For there I took the last fareweel
O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade,
I clasp'd her to my bosom!
The golden hours on angel wings,
Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me as light and life
Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender;
And pledging aft to meet again,
We tore oursel's asunder;

JESSIE, THE PLOWER O' DUNBLANE

But, oh! fell Death' untimely frost,
That nipt my flower sae early!

Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,
That wraps my Highland Mary!

Oh, pale, pale now those rosy lips,
I aft ha'e kissed sae fondly!

An' clos'd for aye the sparkling glance
That dwelt on me sae kindly;
And mouldering now in silent dust
That heart that lov'd me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary.

VIII

JESSIE, THE FLOWER O' DUNBLANE

(ROBERT TANNAHILL)

THE sun has gone down o'er the lofty Ben Lomond

And left the red clouds to preside o'er the

scene,

While lanely I stray in the calm summer gloamin'

To muse on sweet Jessie, the flower of

Dunblane.