« ZurückWeiter »
He died !- Upon the desert gale
Whose is the hand that now shall rear,
This pledge of affection, dear Ellen, receive,
From a youth who's devoted to thee;
Thy Edward still constant will be;
whole train joined at intervals, sounded most sweet. Their voices were deep and regular ; and as the long procession moved slowly away into the desert with their diminishing forms and fading chorus, they gave us the idea of a train solemnly passing into the shades of eternity. The present translation of their song or hymn was collected from one of our buatmen, who had paid particular attention to it."
The gift thou hast woven, I'll wear near my heart,
And oft the dear token will prove
A joyful remembrance of love.
Nay, weep not, sweet maid, though thy sailor, awhile,
Must roam o'er the boisterous main,
And we shall meet happy again;
The signal floats high in our view;
Adieu, dearest Ellen, adieu.
I SAW THEE WEEP.
I saw thee weep—the big bright tear
Came o'er that eye of blue;
A violet dropping dew.
I saw the smile—the sapphire's blaze
Beside thee ceas'd to shine;
That fill’d that glance of thine.
As clouds from yonder sun receive
A deep and mellow dye,
Can banish from the sky,
Their own pure joy impart;
That lightens o'er the heart.
NOW SPRING HAS CLAD THE GROVE IN GREEN.
AIR.--"The hopeless lover."
Now Spring has clad the grove in green,
And strew'd the lea wi' flowers ;
Rejoice in fostering showers;
While ilka thing in nature join,
Their sorrows to forego,
The weary steps of woe !
The trout within yon wimpling burn,
Glides swift-a silver dart,
Defies the angler's art :
That wanton trout was I,
Has scorched my fountains dry.
The little floweret's peaceful lot,
In yonder cliff that grows, Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot,
Nae ruder visit knows, Was mine, till love has o'er me passed,
And blighted a' my bloom ; And now, beneath the withering blast,
My youth and joy consume.
The wakened laverock warbling springs,
And climbs the early sky,
In morning's rosy eye ;
Until the flowery snare
Made me the thrall o' care.
O, had my fate been Greenland snows,
Or Afric's burning zone,
So Peggy ne'er I'd known !
What tongue his woes can tell ?
Nae kinder spirits dwell.
NAE MAIR WE'LL MEET, &c.
AIR.-“We'll meet beside the dusky glen."
Nae mair we'll meet again, my love, by yon burn side,
Ne'er again the mavis' lay
Will we hail at close o' day,
Yet mem'ry oft will fondly brood, on yon burn side,
Still the walk wi' me thou'lt share,
Though thy foot can never mair