THE SUN UPON THE WEIRDLAW HILL. AIR" Rimhin aluin 'stu mo run.” The air, composed by the Editor of Albyn's Anthology. The words written for Mr GEORGE THOMSON's Scottish Melodies. THE sun upon the Weirdlaw hill, In Ettrick's vale, is sinking sweet; The lake lies sleeping at my feet. Yet not the landscape to mine eye Bears those bright hues that once it bore; Though evening, with her richest dye, Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore. With listless look, along the plain I see Tweed's silver current glide, And coldly mark the holy fane Of Melrose rise in ruin'd pride. The quiet lake, the balmy air, The hill, the stream, the tower, the tree, Are they still such as once they were, Or is the dreary change in me? Alas, the warp'd and broken board, To aching eyes each landscape lowers, To feverish pulse each gale blows chill; And Araby's or Eden's bowers Were barren as this moorland hill. THE MAID OF ISLA. AIR" The Maid of Isla." Written for Mr GEORGE THOMSON'S Scottish Melodies. O MAID of Isla, from the cliff, That looks on troubled wave and sky, Dost thou not see yon little skiff Contend with ocean gallantly? Now beating 'gainst the breeze and surge, Why does she war unequal urge ?— O Isla's maid, she seeks her home. O Isla's maid, yon sea-bird mark, Her white wing gleams through mist and spray, Against the storm-cloud, lowering dark, Where clouds are dark and billows rave, Why to the shelter should she come Of cliff exposed to wind and wave?O maid of Isla, 'tis her home. As breeze and tide to yonder skiff, Thou'rt adverse to the suit I bring, And cold as is yon wintry cliff, Where sea-birds close their wearied wing. Yet cold as rock, unkind as wave, Still, Isla's maid, to thee I come; For in thy love, or in his grave, Must Allan Vourich find his home. THE FORAY. Set to music by John Whitefield, Mus. Doc. Cam. THE last of our steers on the board has been spread, The eyes, that so lately mix'd glances with our's, The rain is descending; the wind rises loud; And the moon her red beacon has veil'd with a cloud; |