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 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 Down by slaves on dark Culloden. 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; 'Mongst these could I love thee, and that love enjoy, THE MERMAID'S SONG CONSISTS here only of the singing verses of a long ballad which I wrote many years ago, in the house of Mr Aitken, then living at Dunbar. The original ballad is to be found printed in some work, but where I know not. The air is my own, but I cannot boast much of it: it is rather humdrum. It was first arranged by young Gow, and latterly by Dewar, in Mr Purdie's edition of the Border Garland. LIE still, my love, lie still and sleep, Long is thy night of sorrow; Thy maiden of the mountain deep Shall meet thee on the morrow. But O, when shall that morrow be, When my true love shall waken, |