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He died !- Upon the desert gale
Shoot up his eagle shafts to sail;
He died !-Upon the desert plain
Fling loose his camel's golden rein;
He died !-No other voice shall guide
O'er stream or sand its step of pride.

Whose is the hand that now shall rear,
Terror of man, the Sheik's red spear ?
Lives there the warrior on whose brow
His turban's vulture plumes shall glow?
He's gone, and with our father fell
The sun of glory- Ishmael!



This pledge of affection, dear Ellen, receive,

From a youth who's devoted to thee;
And when on the relic you look, love, believe,

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 charm, to dispel every gloom, and impart

A joyful remembrance of love.

Nay, weep not, sweet maid, though thy sailor, awhile,

Must roam o'er the boisterous main,
Fond hope kindly whispers that fortune will smile,

And we shall meet happy again;
One embrace ere we part—see, the vessel's unmoor’d,

The signal floats high in our view;
The last boat yet lingers to waft me on board,

Adieu, dearest Ellen, adieu.



I saw thee weep—the big bright tear

Came o'er that eye of blue;
And then methought it did appear,

A violet dropping dew.

I saw the smile—the sapphire's blaze

Beside thee ceas'd to shine;
I could not watch the living rays

That fill’d that glance of thine.

As clouds from yonder sun receive

A deep and mellow dye,
Which scarce the shade of coming eve

Can banish from the sky,
Those smiles unto the moodiest mind

Their own pure joy impart;
Their sunshine leaves a glow behind

That lightens o'er the heart.



AIR.--"The hopeless lover."

Now Spring has clad the grove in green,

And strew'd the lea wi' flowers ;
The furrowed, waving corn is seen

Rejoice in fostering showers;

While ilka thing in nature join,

Their sorrows to forego,
O why thus, all alone, are mine

The weary steps of woe !

The trout within yon wimpling burn,

Glides swift-a silver dart,
And safe beneath the shady thorn

Defies the angler's art :
My life was ance that careless stream,

That wanton trout was I,
But love, wi' unrelenting beam,

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,
Winnowing blythe her dewy wings

In morning's rosy eye ;
As little recked I sorrow's power,

Until the flowery snare
O’ witching love, in luckless hour,

Made me the thrall o' care.

O, had my fate been Greenland snows,

Or Afric's burning zone,
Wi' man and nature leagued my foes,

So Peggy ne'er I'd known !
The wretch whase doom is, “ Hope nae mair !”

What tongue his woes can tell ?
Within whase bosom, save despair,

Nae kinder spirits dwell.



AIR.-“We'll meet beside the dusky glen."

Nae mair we'll meet again, my love, by yon burn side,
Nae mair we'll wander through the grove, by yon burn side,

Ne'er again the mavis' lay

Will we hail at close o' day,
For we ne'er again will stray, down by yon burn side.

Yet mem'ry oft will fondly brood, on yon burn side,
O'er haunts which we sae aft hae trod, by yon burn side,

Still the walk wi' me thou'lt share,

Though thy foot can never mair
Bend to earth the gowan fair, down by yon burn side.

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