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Farewell for aye: a salt tear dims

The eye, that never wept before;
Our mortal pilgrimage is o'er,

And now we part to meet no more!

Our lay of joy is past and gone,
That once in vaulted halls we sung;
Alas! our final peal hath rung

Of mirth, high dames and lords among:
And now we gaze with sadness on
The narrow home where song must end;
There no merry lays ascend
Where my feeble footsteps wend.

Here on this oak that bourgeons fair, I'll hang thy wires of witching tone; The passing breeze will cause them moan, And swell my requiem when I'm gone.

The traveller faint will list'ning stare, And marvel whence thy sounds proceed, The fairy king in buxom weed,

Will leave his dance to hear thy rede.

But chief of all, the love-lorn maid, When dusky twilight clouds the sky, Eluding watchful guardian's eye

Towards this sacred spot will hie.

Beneath thy oaks embow'ring shade

She'll muse, and count each straggling ray The moon sheds on its lovely way,

Along thy frame of silvery grey.

She'll hear thee woo'd by wandering gale,
Rise sweetly in thy midnight song,
Now, rapid roll, full ton'd, and strong,
Now, low and dying, weep along.

Oh! she will hear thee oft bewail
The fate of lovers true, and tell

How many an evil tide befell

Maids, who have lov'd but all too well.

The steel-clad knight as home he wends,
From battle toils, and sieges dire,

Will pause, and check his courser's fire,
And under thy old oak retire:

For, lo! thy song of triumph blends
Its warlike notes with rustling breeze;
And falling, rising, through the trees,
Mimes his old hall's festivities.

O Harp! be still a little while,
Nor wake thy dirge of melting numbers,
Stay till thy master calmly slumbers,
Where no bale his bliss encumbers.

Now, take with thee his last faint smile,

And benison, in death's arms given,
Oh now begin thy mournful steven,
And waft my soul on it to heaven!

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INDEX.

A coggie o' ale, and a pickle ait meal

Adown the green dell, near the Abbey's

remains

Again rejoicing nature sees

Again the happy day returns

Ah! Mary, sweetest maid, farewell

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All white hang the bushes o'er Elaw's sweet stream

Amid Loch-Caterine's scenery wild

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Beyond Busaco's mountains dun

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Blow on, ye wild winds, o'er his hallowed

Blythely I hae screwed my pipes

By the side of a mountain, o'ershadowed with trees

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Can a crown give content

note

218

Claudine liv'd contented and peace was her lot
Columbia! Columbia! to glory arise

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Fair dream of my slumber, sad thoughts of my waking
Far lone amang the highland hills,
Farewell! if ever fondest prayer

Farewell, oh sweet hope! I have wept thee in sadness
For many a wistful hour to pity dear

· note

From his booth on the hill, the sad shepherd retires
From my slumber I woke at the dead hour of

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Moore
W. Reader
Tannahill
Byron

M. A. R.

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Robt. Glassford 175

J. Findlay

Ramsay

Tannahill

From "Paul's Letters" 431 note

E. Waller

note Gott. Aug. Burder 440

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Have you not seen the timid tear

Have you sailed on the breast of the deep
Here beneath this willow sleepeth

Her hair was like the Cromla mist

Her kiss was soft and sweet

Here's to them that's awa

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note

Here's to thy health, my bonny lass
How ardently my bosom glows
How eerily, how drearily, how wearily to pine
How green the fields, the flowers how fair note
How still is the night, and how deathlike the gloom

I come in the morn, I come in the hour · note
I found the warrior on the plain

If that the world and love were young

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note

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I have known what it was to be happy and gay
In Buttermere's woods and wilds among
In summer when nature her mantle displays
In summer when the hay was mawn

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Moore

Blackwood's Mag. 392
Mrs. Opie

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Sir W. Raleigh 415
James Yool

R. Allan

John Sim
Burns

In vain thou call'st for a mirthful smile

Isabelle! Isabelle! hark to my soft lute

W. Reader

I saw from the beach when the morning was shining, Moore
I saw thee weep-the big bright tear

I saw thy form in youthful prime

Is there a man whose breast ne'er glow'd
Its filmy wing, of azure hue

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It was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound for Palestine

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Byron
Moore

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note Fanny De Beauharnois 361

I've no sheep on the mountains, nor boat on the lake
I whispered her my last adieu

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Keen and cold is the blast loudly whistling around
Keen blaws the wind o'er the braes o' Gleniffer
Kenmure's on an' awa, Willie
Know'st thou the land where stately laurels bloom

Let every valiant son of Gaul

Let high Benledi rear its tap

Let us go, lassie, go

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note Marquis de Paulmy 248

Let us haste to Kelvin grove, bonnie lassie, O,
Light springs the pang, light passes by
Loud roar'd the tempest, the night was descending
Love under Friendship's vesture white
Love will not bloom where envy breathes

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Mark'd you her eye of heavenly blue

Mary, why thus waste thy youth-time in sorrow

May heaven holpe the Mayde
Merrily every bosom boundeth

Mine be a cot beside the hill

Money maks us bonny

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My bonny black meer's dead
My cruel love to danger go

My father and mother now lie with the dead

My friend is the man I would copy thro' life

My dying Sire, in battle slain

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