Volume Iii Part 14 (2/2)
THE EXILE'S LAMENT.
By the lone Mankayana's margin gray A Scottish maiden sung; And mournfully pour'd her melting lay In Teviot's border-tongue: O bonnie grows the broom on Blaiklaw knowes, And the birk in Clifton dale; And green are the hills o' the milk-white ewes, By the briery banks o' Cayle!
Here bright are the skies; and these valleys of bloom May enchant the traveller's eye; But all seems dress'd in death-like gloom, To the exile who comes to die!
O bonnie grows the broom, &c.
Far round and round spreads the howling waste, Where the wild beast roams at will; And yawning cleughs, by woods embraced, Where the savage lurks to kill!
O bonnie grows the broom, &c.
Full oft over Cheviot's uplands green My dreaming fancy strays; But I wake to weep 'mid the desolate scene That scowls on my aching gaze!
O bonnie grows the broom, &c.
Oh light, light is poverty's lowliest state, On Scotland's peaceful strand, Compared with the heart-sick exile's fate, In this wild and weary land!
O bonnie grows the broom, &c.
LOVE AND SOLITUDE.
I love the free ridge of the mountain, When dawn lifts her fresh dewy eye; I love the old ash by the fountain, When noon's summer fervours are high: And dearly I love when the gray-mantled gloaming Adown the dim valley glides slowly along, And finds me afar by the pine-forest roaming, A-list'ning the close of the gray linnet's song.
When the moon from her fleecy cloud scatters Over ocean her silvery light, And the whisper of woodlands and waters Comes soft through the silence of night-- I love by the ruin'd tower lonely to linger, A-dreaming to fancy's wild witchery given, And hear, as if swept by some seraph's pure finger, The harp of the winds breathing accents of heaven.
Yet still, 'mid sweet fancies o'erflowing, Oft bursts from my lone breast the sigh-- I yearn for the sympathies glowing, When hearts to each other reply!
Come, friend of my bosom! with kindred devotion, To wors.h.i.+p with me by wild mountain and grove; O come, my Eliza, with dearer emotion, With rapture to hallow the chaste home of love!
COME AWA', COME AWA'.
Come awa', come awa', An' o'er the march wi' me, la.s.sie; Leave your southren wooers a', My winsome bride to be, la.s.sie!
Lands nor gear I proffer you, Nor gauds to busk ye fine, la.s.sie; But I 've a heart that 's leal and true, And a' that heart is thine, la.s.sie!
Come awa', come awa', And see the kindly north, la.s.sie, Out o'er the peaks o' Lammerlair, And by the Links o' Forth, la.s.sie!
And when we tread the heather-bell, Aboon Demayat lea, la.s.sie, You 'll view the land o' flood and fell, The n.o.ble north countrie, la.s.sie!
Come awa', come awa', And leave your southland hame, la.s.sie; The kirk is near, the ring is here, And I 'm your Donald Graeme, la.s.sie!
Rock and reel and spinning-wheel, And English cottage trig, la.s.sie; Haste, leave them a', wi' me to speel The braes 'yont Stirling brig, la.s.sie!
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