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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,

Even in thy winding-sheet;
I canna leave thy comely clay,

An' features calm an' sweet!
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!

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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

Brought far the woodlark's wooer tale, An' play'd along the mellow grain

In mimic waves adown the dale. I saw the drops of dew so clear

Upon the green leaf trembling lie, But sweeter far the crystal tear

That trembled in a lovely eye,

When lovers meet, 'tis to the mind

The spring-flush o' the blooming year; But 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.

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I tauld ye ear', I tauld ye late,

That lassie wad trapan ye, 0; 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, 0,
An' sey your leal auld mother's skill
Ayont the muir wi’ Annie, 0.
He'll no wake, he'll no wake,

He'll no wake wi' Annie, O,
Nor sit his lane o'er night wi' ane

Sae thraward an' uncanny, O!

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The night it was a simmer night,

An' oh the glen was lanely, 0 ! For just ae sternie's gowden ee Peep'd o'er the hill serenely, 0.

, 0. The twa are in the flow'ry heath,

Ayont the muir sae flowy, 0,
An' but ae plaid atween them baith,

An' wasna that right dowie, O?

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