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I thought, when I was fail'd, I might

Wi' you an' yours remain :
But thou art fled, my bonny boy,

An' left me here alane.

Now clos'd an' set that sparkling eye!

Thy breast is cauld as clay!
An' a' my hope, an' a' my joy,

Wi' thee are reft away.
Ah! fain wad I that comely clay

Reanimate again!
But thou art fled, my bonny boy,

An' left me here alane.

The flower, now fading on the leo,

Shall fresher rise to view ;
The leaf, just fallen from the tree,

The year will soon renew:
But lang may I weep o'er thy grave,

Ere you revive again ;
For thou art fled, my bonny boy!

An' left me here alane.

THE FLOWER.

O SOFTLY blow, thou biting blast,

O'er Yarrow's lonely dale ;

And spare yon bonny tender bud

Exposed to every gale ;
Long has she hung her drooping head,

Despairing to survive,
But transient sunbeams, through the cloud,

Still kept my flower alive.

One sweetly scented summer eve

To yonder bower I stray’d;
While little birds from ev'ry bough

Their music wild convey’d.
The sunbeam lean'd across the shower ;

The rainbow girt the sky;
'Twas then I saw this lovely flower,

An' wonder fill'd mine eye.

Her border was the purple tint

Stole from the rising sun;
The whitest feather from the swan

Upon her breast was dun :
Her placid smile of love and grace

Must ev'ry bosom win;
The dew-drops glist’ning on her face,

Show'd all was pure within.

But frost, on cold misfortune's wing,

Hath crush'd her in the clay ; And ruthless fate hath rudely torn

Each kindred branch away.

That wounded bark will never close

But bleeding still remain !
How can ye blow, relentless winds,

And nip my flower again!

THE MOON WAS A WAINING,

THE moon was a

a-waining, The tempest was over ; Fair was the maiden,

And fond was the lover.
But the snow was so deep,

That his heart it grew weary ;
And he sunk down to sleep

In the muirland so dreary.

Soft was the bed

She had made for her lover
White were the sheets,

And embroider'd the cover.
But his sheets are more white !

And his canopy grander!
And sounder he sleeps

Where the hill-foxes wander.

Alas! pretty maiden !

What sorrows attend you!

I see you sit shivering

With lights at your window.
But long may you wait,

Ere your arms shall enclose him ;
For still, still, he lies,

With a wreath on his bosom.

How painful the task

The sad tidings to tell you !
An orphan you were

Ere this misery befell you.
And far in yon wild,

Where the dead tapers hover,
So cold, cold, and wan,

Lies the corpse of your lover!

MARY AT HER LOVER'S GRAVE.

AIR-Banks of the Dee. How swift flew the time when I stray'd with my

Jamie. On flower-fringed valleys by Yarrow's fair

stream! But all I held precious is now taken from me!

Sure every excess of delight is a dream! Of fate I had never complained as unkindly Had it to a bed or a prison confined me,

Reproach, shame, and ruin, before and behind me,

Had Jamie been by me in every extreme.

But there, where my heart I had treasur'd for

ever! Where all my affections on earth were bestow'd, With one fatal stroke to destroy; and to sever

Two bosoms with purest affection that glow'd! Now dim is the eye that beam'd beauty and splen.

dour! And cold was the heart that was constant and ten

der; The sweet cherry lips to the worm must surrender,

With wisdom, and truth, that delightfully flow'd. Hence, comfort and pleasure! I cannot endure ye;

Here, on this new grave, will I bid you adieu : My reason is bleeding, and here will I bury

That mirror, where clearly my misery I view. O Thou! who the days of all mankind hast mea.

sur'd! A fate with my Jamie I'll cheerfully hazard ! Then drive me distracted to roam in the desart,

Or bear me to him, that our joys may renew. Else, even in death, my fond arms shall enclose

him! And my dust mix with his as we moulder away: For here, with my hands, will I dig to his bosom,

Where closely I'll cling, till the dawn of the day.

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