THE GLOAMIN'

Is one of my very earliest songs. The futile efforts of an untutored muse to reach the true pathetic are quite palpable, and bordering on the ridiculous.—It has never been set to music.

THE gloamin' frae the welkin high

Had chased the bonny gouden gleam;
The curtain'd east, in crimson die,

Lay mirror'd on the tinted stream;
The wild-rose, blushing on the brier,
Was set wi' draps o' pearly dew,
As full and clear the bursting tear
That row'd in Ellen's een o' blue.

She saw the dear, the little cot,

Where fifteen years flew sweetly by,
An' sair she wail'd the hapless lot

That forced her frae that hame to fly.

Though blithe an' mild the e'ening smiled,

Her heart was rent wi' anguish keen;

The mavis ceased his music wild,

And wonder'd what her plaint could mean.

A fringe was round the orient drawn,
A mourning veil it seem'd to be;
The star o' love look'd pale and wan,
As if the tear were in her ee.

The dowy dell, the greenwood tree,

With all their inmates, seem'd to mourn;

Sweet Ellen's tears they doughtna see,
Departing never to return.

Alas! her grief could not be spoke,
There were no words to give it name;
Her aged parents' hearts were broke,
Her brow imbued with burning shame.
That hame could she ne'er enter mair,
Ilk honour'd face in tears to see,
Where she so oft had join'd the prayer

Pour'd frae the heart so fervently.

Ah, no! the die was foully cast,

Her fondest earthly hope was gone; Her soul had brooded o'er the past, Till pale despair remain'd alone. Her heart abused, her love misused,

Her parents drooping to the tomb, Weeping, she fled to desert bed,

To perish in its ample dome.

LIDDEL BOWER,

A BALLAD,

WAS written for Albyn's Anthology, where it appeared to an old Border air of one part, which Mr Campbell had picked up. I have an impression that the ballad was founded on some published legend, but where it is to be found I have quite forgot.

"O WILL you walk the wood, ladye,
Or will you walk the lea,

Or will ye gae to the Liddel bower,

An' rest a while wi' me ?"

"The dew lies in the wood, Douglas,

The wind blaws on the lea,

An' when I gae to the Liddel bower,
It shall not be wi' thee."

"The stag bells on my hills, ladye,

The hart but an the hind,

My flocks spread o'er the Border dales, My steeds outstrip the wind.

At ae blast o' my bugle-horn

A thousand tend my

ca';

With Douglas at the Liddel bower,

No ill can thee befa'.

D'ye mind when in that lonely bower

Meeting at eventide,

I kiss'd your young and rosy lips,

An' woo'd you for my bride?

I saw the blush break on your cheek,
The tear stand in your ee;

O could I ween, fair Lady Jane!
That then ye loed nae me ?"

"But sair, sair hae I rued that day, An' sairer yet may rue!

Ye thought nae on my maiden love,

Nor yet my rosy hue.