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Beneath the gowden gloaming sky

The mavis mends his lay, The redbreast pours its sweetest strains,

To charm the lingering day ;
While weary yeldrins seem to wail

Their little nestlings torn,
The merry wren, frae den to den,

Gaes jinking through the thorn,

The roses fauld their silken leaves,

The foxglove shuts its bell,
The honey-suckle and the birk,

Spread fragrance through the dell.
Let others crowd the giddy court

Of mirth and revelry,
The simple joys that nature yields

Are dearer far to me.

XXXVII.

O SLEEP NOT, MOSCA,

A Lapland Song.

O sleep not, Mosca, but wait for thy love,

Tho' the night be cold and drear, I fear not the blast, or the mountain steep,

But speed with my swift Rein-deer.

While cheer'd, my love, by those bright eyes of thine,

And warm’d with thy bosom's glow, I heed not tho' far and dreary the way,

But swift with my Rein-deer go.

O hide not, pale moon, thy beams of the night,

O hide not thy light from me;
My love she has sigh’d, and look'd for thy smile,

And will bless the night and thee.

My Mosca I see on yon hill of snow,

O speed, O speed, my Rein-deer;
How canst thou linger, and not speed thy flight,

When my Mosca's voice I hear.

XXXVIIT.

FAIR DREAM OF MY SLUMBER.

Fair dream of my slumber, sad thoughts of my waking,

Sweet-why should the world e'er dissever us more? No home can I find but with her I'm forsaking,

Even life wants the charm that endear'd it before.

Thy image, all ties, all affections expelling,

Here lures me to fix my immutable dome, Thy bosom's the spot where my soul would be dwelling,

And exile-dark exile, awaits me at home.

Oh! when but of friendship the farewell is spoken,

And press'd is the hand which we cannot retain, We seem as the threads of existence were broken,

And happiness fled ne'er to spin them again. Then think to how piercing a grief we are fated,

When the being we love, is the friend we adore, When the void in our hearts must be ever unsated,

When the web we have burst can be woven no more!

XXXIX.

HOW ARDENTLY MY BOSOM GLOWS

AIR-My Nannie, O.

How ardently my bosom glows.

Wi' love to thee, my dearie, 0,
My panting heart its passion shows,

Whenever thou art near me, O.

The sweetness o’thy artless smile

Thy sparkling e’e's resistless wile, Gars sober reason back recoil,

Wi' love turn'd tapsalteerie, O.

Thy lips, sure seats o' sweet delight,

Wha e'er may haflins see them, O, Maun be a cauldrife, lifeless wight,

Shou'd he no try to pree them, 0; To me thou ever shalt be dear,

Thy image in my heart I'll wear, Contentment's sun my day shall chear,

As lang’s thou'lt be my dearie, O.

Nae will-o'-wisp's delusive blaze,

Thro' fortune's fen sae drearie, 0, Nor wealth, nor fame’s attractive rays,

Shall lure me frae my dearie, 0; But thro' the rural shady grove,

Qwre flow'ry lea wi' thee I'll rove; My cot shall be the seat o' love

While life remains, my dearie, O.

The pleasing scenes of nature gay,

May charm the heart that's sairy, 0; Yet even such scenes to me add wae,

When absent frae my dearie, O. Remembrance broods still on the hour,

When first within yon lonely bower, I felt the love-enslaving power

Of thy sweet charms, my dearie, O.

THE MAID OF TRALLEE.

Young Connel was gallant, young Ellen was fair,
He gaz'd, and she blush'd, no one whisper'd beware;
Young Ellen was fair, and young Connel was brave,
He swore to her beauty his heart was a slave;
He pip'd, and he danc'd, and he sung full of glee,
And his song was of love, and the maid of Trallee,

Fair Ellen, sweet Ellen, fair Ellen O'Reily,
Fair Ellen, the maid of Trallee.

O say, can the tongue a soft language impart,
Persuasive and sweet, yet unknown to the heart ?
Can true love so soon with possession grow cold,
Or say, did he sigh after glory or gold ?
For high wav'd the banner, he went o'er the sea,
And left to her sorrow the maid of Trallee.

Fair Ellen, sweet Ellen, fair Ellen O'Reily,
Fair Ellen, the maid of Trallee.

That cheek where the roses and lilies were spread,
Now boasts but the lily, the roses are fled;
That eye, whose bright glance the heart's raptures reveal'd,
Now dim with a tear, no more lustre shall yield;

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