XXXIV. I SAW THY FORM IN YOUTHFUL PRIME. AIR-Domhnall, I saw thy form in youthful prime, Yet still thy features wore that light As streams that run o'er golden mines, Nor seem to know the wealth that shines Within their gentle tide, Mary! So, veil'd beneath a simple guise, And that which charmed all other eyes, If souls could always dwell above, Thou ne'er hadst left thy sphere; To live with them is far less sweet XXXV. PROVE FALSE TO THEE. AIR-I saw thy form. Prove false to thee, my love!-ah! no, It never shall be said A heart, so spotless, pure as thine, Was e'er by me betray'd, Mary. One richer choose than thee, dear maid!--No, ne'er at splendor's shrine, For wealth of worlds would I forego The right to call thee mine, Mary. Nor e'er shall beauty, save thine own, A moment o'er me sway, For thou, with every earthly charm, Hast those will ne'er decay, Mary. Then from thy breast chase every fear, And nought, and less than nought, this world XXXVI. THE SUMMER GLOAMIN AIR-Alexander Donn's Strathspey. The midges dance aboon the burn, The pairtricks, down the rushy howm, Set up their e'ening ca'; Now loud and clear the blackbird's sang Rings through the briery shaw, While, fleeting gay, the swallows play Around the castle wa'. *This song, though not generally known, our readers will be gratified to learn, is the production of the late R. Tannahill. Beneath the gowden gloaming sky The redbreast pours its sweetest strains, The merry wren, frae den to den, The roses fauld their silken leaves, The simple joys that nature yields 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, I heed not tho' far and dreary the way, 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, XXXVIII. FAIR DREAM OF MY SLUMBER. Fair dream of my slumber, sad thoughts of my waking, |