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I love thee, Dee; thy banks and glades,

Tho' memory there my bosom tear,
For there he rovd that broke my heart,

Yet to that heart, oh! still how dear.

Ye shades that echo'd to his vows,

And saw me once supremely blest ;
Oh yield me now a peaceful grave,

And give a forlorn maiden rest;
And should the false one hither stray,

No vengeful spirit bid him fear;
But tell him, tho' he broke my heart,

Yet to that heart he still was dear!

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AIR-Is there a heart that never lov'd.

Is there a man whose breast ne'er glow'd

With Freedom's hallow'd flame,
Whose lips with accents never flow'd

In praises to her name;

Oh! bear him hence to Asia's plains,

Or Afric's desarts drear,
Where not a ray of freedom deigns,

The humble hut to cheer.

Oh! there's a charm in Liberty!

A spell of heavenly birth,
Which souls from meaner cares can free,

And lift them far from earth :
And he whose life's blood bravely flows

At freedom's glorious shrine,
May smile in triumph on his foes .

And deem his fate divine !

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When sets the sun o'er Lomond's height,

To blaze upon the western wave, When peace and love possess the grove,

And echo sleeps within its cave;

Led by love's soft endearing charms,

I stray the pathless winding vale, And hail the hour that gives to me

The lovely maid of Ormadale.

Her eyes outshine the star of night,

Her cheeks the morning's rosy hue, And pure as flower in summer shade,

Low bending in the pearly dew; Nor flower so fair and lovely pure,

Shall fate's dark wintry winds assail. As angel smile she aye will be

Dear to the bowers of Ormadale.

Let fortune soothe the heart of care,

And wealth to all its votaries give; Be mine the rosy smile of love,

And in its blissful arms to live: I would resign fair India's wealth,

And sweet Arabia's spicy gale, For balmy eve and Scotian bower,

With thee, lov'd maid of Ormadales



At the close of the day, in the sacred aisle,

By the light of the taper dim, Tis sweet to sit and list the while

To the notes of the vesper hymn.

When the silver moon, and the evening star,

Are through the cloister beaming, And the notes of the choir, though distant far,'

Like an angel's song are streaming.

Then every care from the tranquil breast,

By the sacred scene is driven, Each wild desire is hush'd to rest,

Each hope is turn'd to Heaven.

There would I wish to linger still,

Till my heart had hush'd her motion, Nor with less holy feelings thrill,

Than mild meek-cyed devotion.



From his booth on the hill the sad shepherd retires,
Down the long sloping vale to the sea-beaten shore;
From the scenes of his youth, from the home of his sires,
A new home to seek o'er the wild ocean's roar.

On his arm hung bis partner of joy and of woe;
On her chcek the smile strove to oppose the big tear,

Twas vain; for the past still return'd to her view,
And the future was darken'd with sorrow and care,

By their side the dear pledges of love cheerful smild,
For they knew not the cause why their fond father mourn’d,
And the old shepherd dog, as he follow'd, howld wild,
And oft to the dear lonely mansion return’d.

O lard cruel Lordling, thy mandate's severe,
That sends yon sad band o'er the wide western wave;
O'er thy bier weeping pity shall ne'er shed a tear,
Nor love sadly sigh o'er thy dark narrow grave.

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