We had not been assembled here, Rejoicing in a father's sway. And even the days ourselves have known Alike the moral truth impress, Valour and constancy alone Can purchase peace and happiness. Then hail! memorial of the brave, The liegeman's pride, the Border's awe; May thy grey pennon never wave O'er sterner field than Carterhaugh! A WIDOW'S WAIL. ONE of my early songs, made so long ago that my mind retains no remembrance of the time, but I see it was published in the Forest Minstrel in 1810, and several times since, with some slight alterations.—It is sung to the air of " Gilderoy," but never was set to music. O THOU art lovely yet, my boy, I canna leave thy comely clay, I have no hope but for the day That we shall meet again, Since thou art gone, my bonny boy, An' left me here alane! Aye we sat, and aye we sigh'd, For there was ane my arm within; Aye the restless stream we eyed, And heard its soft and soothing din. The sun had sought Glen-Lyon's glade, Forth peer'd the e'ening's modest gem, An' every little cloud that stray'd, Look'd gaudy in its gouden hem. The playful breeze across the plain An' play'd along the mellow grain I saw the drops of dew so clear That trembled in a lovely eye, When lovers meet, 'tis to the mind The spring-flush o' the blooming year; But O their parting leaves behind Something to memory ever dear! On Ettrick's fairy banks at eve, Though music melts the breeze away, The gloamin' fall could never leave A glow like that by Highland Tay. I tauld ye ear', I tauld ye late, An' ilka word ye boud to say When left alane wi' Annie, O! Take my advice this night for aince, Or beauty's tongue will ban ye, O, An' sey your leal auld mother's skill Ayont the muir wi' Annie, O. He'll no wake, he'll no wake, He'll no wake wi' Annie, O, Nor sit his lane o'er night wi' ane The night it was a simmer night, An' wasna that right dowie, O? |