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0, let me lie, and weep my fill
O’er wounds that heal can never; And O, kind Heaven! were it thy will,
To close these eyes for ever ;
For how can maid's affections dear
Recall her love mistaken?
Or how can heart of maiden bear
To know that heart forsaken?
0, why should vows so fondly made,
Be broken ere the morrow,
To one who loved as never maid
Loved in this world of sorrow?
The look of scorn I cannot brave,
Nor pity's eye more dreary ; A quiet sleep within the grave
Is all for which I weary !
Farewell, dear Yarrow's mountains green,
And banks of broom so yellow! Too happy has this bosom been Within your arbours mellow.
That happiness is fled for aye,
And all is dark desponding,
And the dear home beyond them!
As a note to the above song, I may quote a stanza from another poem written at the same time :
Woe to the guileful tongue that bred
This disappointment and this pain!
A minstrel's malison remain !
Nor shame until his dying day;
That ever bow'd to nature's sway!
JOHN O' BRACKADALE.
Written for, and published in, Albyn's Anthology.
Hey, John, ho, John,
Hey, John o' Brackadale ;
Brave John o' Brackadale !
o'er by Moravich,
At his knee a water-pail ?
Bald head an' bosom hale,
Hey, John, ho, John, &c.
Sic a carle ! to wear away,
An' lye down quiet i' the yird, Just when the glorious usquebae
Is growing cheaper by a third ;It winna do—I'll no believe it,
For ne'er was carle sae blithe an' hale;
Hey, John o’ Brackadale;
Brave John O'Brackadale!
Is a rant which I composed for my own singing, in the broken Highland dialect, when I was a shepherd.
AIR, Whigs o' Fife.
Her name pe Bauldy Frazer, man,
Upon Cullotin's lea, man.
For Heelant mans to tee, man.
Och, sic a hurly-purly rase,
On Heelant mans to flee, man.