The happy hero see, No vain schemes confounding him, All his joys surrounding him, Dear he holds his native land, its laws, and liberty. CXXXIX. O WHITE FOAMING RHAIDER. AIR.-Lady Owen's delight. white foaming Rhaider, by thy roaring fall, How oft the last words of my love I recal, When the fresh blowing blossom he pluck'd from yon tree, And gave it all blushing and fragrant to me: Accept it, my Lucy, and long may it prove "A pleasing memorial of innocent love." O dear is that blossom, tho' faded, to me, To flourish again on his lov'd native shore : This token of passion, so tender and true, To keep my heart spotless, and constant, and warm. Then why should my youth feel the blight of despair, Then Rhaider, hoarse dashing, with clamourous joy, Then gay in new beauty the valley shall smile: That so often has shelter'd my Owen and me. CXL. O THOU HAST SEEN THE LILY FAIR. AIR-I saw thy form. O thou hast seen the lily fair The lily bath'd in morning dew, Are not more pure than her I love, But soon before time's withering blast, Nor ev'n will beauty such as thine, Yet there is that within thy breast A mind-will bloom when beauty fades, Will flourish in yon sky, Mary. CXLI. THE WIDOW'S WAIL Now clos'd for aye thy coal-black een, I aye was fain to see-my Willy. Last night, across the Clyde-dear Willy, This morn a stiffen'd' corse brought hame, Alake, 'tis hard to bide-O Willy. The owlet hooted sair yestreen, And thrice the soot it fell-dear Willy, The tyke cam' late, and howl'd aloud, It seem'd the dying knell o' Willy. Deep were the snaws, keen were my waes, The bairns oft cried for thee,-their Willy, I trembling said, he'll soon be here,The wee things ne'er clos'd e'e, Willy. And when I saw the thick sleet fa', grew And I grew mair afraid for Willy. I thought I heard the pony's foot, dark, And ran thy voice to hear,-ah, Willy, The wind blew hollow, but nae sound My sinking heart did cheer- O Willy. The clock struck ane,-the clock struck twa, And flew to ope the door to Willy; I sank upon the snaw, for Willy, Thy wraith appear'd e'en where I lay, The moon was up, in vain I sought The stiffen'd corse o' thine, lost Willy, And sae will mine ere morrow, dearies. T |