THERE'S GOWD IN THE BREAST. I HAVE forgot whether this is one of the proscribed ones or not; I think it is: but I have not Mr Moore's songs by me. It is set by Smith to a fine old Irish air, ycleped "The Red Fox;" but I know not if it is in existence, as these cancelled things are hard to come at. THERE'S gowd in the breast of the primrose pale, There's riches galore in the breeze of the vale, Then come, my love, at the hour of joy, The courtier joys in bustle and power, The miser in hoards of treasured ore, F But we hae yon heaven, sae bonny and blue, And laverocks skimming out o'er us; The breezes of health and the valleys of dewO the world is all before us! WHY WEEPS YON HIGHLAND MAID? THIS song was written to a cramp air sent me by Smith. It is, however, very beautiful and pathetic. WHY weeps yon Highland maid Over the tartan plaid Is it a pledge of care, Or are the blood drops there? Tell me, thou hind of humble seeming, Why the tears on her cheek are gleaming, Why should the young and fair Thus weep unpitied there? Stranger, that Highland plaid Low in the dust was laid; He who the relic wore, He is, alas! no more: He and his loyal clan were trodden Well o'er a lover's pall, Well may the teardrops fall! Where now her clansman true, Where is the bonnet blue, Where the claymore that broke Fearless through fire and smoke? Not one gleam by glen or river, It lies dropp'd from the hand for ever. Stranger, our fate deplore, Our ancient name's no more! MY EMMA, MY DARLING. I HAVE nothing to tell about this one at all; for I do not remember aught about it, save that I think it is in one of the Musical Bijous. My Emma, my darling, from winter's domain Where a day never wakes but some joy it renews, Would we feel that we love and have spirits refined, We must mix with the world, and enjoy humankind. Mute nature is lovely in earth and in sky, It cheers the lone heart and enlivens the eye; |