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And broken with sighs, now for ever must be
Fair Ellen, sweet Ellen, fair Ellen O'Reily,
I COME IN THE MORN*.
I come in the morn, I come in the hour
When the blossoms of beauty rise ;
Then rest thee, Bride,
In thy beauty's pride
*. For the better understanding of this song, it may be necessary to remark, that the Western Islanders entertain a tradition, that, previous to the death of any young and remarkably beautiful bride among them, an apparition, resembling a mermaid, is always observed. This phantom they distin. guish by the name of Flora, or the spirit of the green isle, and concur in affirming that it made its appearance immediately before the death of the late much-lamented Princess Charlotte of Wales. Whatever credit may be due to the assertion, or even to the fancy on which it is founded, the song itself possesses considerable merit, and is not unworthy the mournful occasion which
The eye I touch must be soft and blue
As the sky where the stars are gleaming,
Where the angels of bliss lie dreaming,
As the stream that leaps among tufts of roses,
Ah! rest thee, Bride,
By thy true-love's side,
it is meant to commemorate. The following stanzas, which we have placed under the note, are, in the original, prefixed to the song, and serve very properly as a useful introduction, by solemnizing our minds for the mournful dirge.
A voice said from the silver sea,
Yet from th’unfathom'd caves below,
And the long echoes answer'd, “ WOE!"
The Warden from his tow'r looks round,
And now he hears the slow waves bringing,
The spirit of the Isle is singing.--
When she sits in the pomp of her ocean-bed,
I saw them wreathing a crown for thee,
With riches of empire in it,
And the Loves that crown'd thee sat to spin ito They heap'd with garlands thy purple bed,
And every flower on earth they found thee, But every flower in the wreath shall fade, Save those thy bounty scatter'd round thee,
Yet sweetly sleep,
While my hour I keep,
0, Green Isle !-woe to thy hope and pride!
To-day thy rose was bright and glowing ; The bud was full, the root was wide,
And the streams of love around it flowing ;To-morrow thy tower shall stand alone,
Thy hoary oak shall live and flourish;
The rose that deck'd its stem shall perish.
The kiss, dear maid, thy lip has left,
Shall never part from mine, Till happier hours restore the gift
Untainted back to thine.
Thy parting glance, which fondly beams,
An equal love may see: The tear that from thine eyelid streams,
Can weep no change in me.
I ask no pledge to make me blest,
In gazing when alone;
Whose thoughts are all thine own.
Nor need I write-to tell the tale,
My pen were doubly weak : Oh! what can idle words avail,
Unless the heart could speak.
By day or night, in weal or woe,
That heart, no longer free,
And silent ache for thee.
IN SUMMER, WHEN THE HAY WAS MAWN.
In summer, when the hay was mawn,
And corn wav'd green in ilka field,
And roses blaw in ilka bield;
Says, I'll be wed, come o't what will;
O'gude advisement comes nae ill.
'Tis ye hae wooers mony a ane,
And, lassie, ye're but young ye ken,
A routhie but, a routhie ben:
Fu' is his barn, fu’ is his byre ;
'Tis plenty beets the lover's fire.