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But your spindle-shank'd sparks, wha but ill set their sarks,
And your pale visag'd milk-sops, and beaux, man,
Then hey for the cogie, &c.
VALE OF THE CROSS.*
Vale of the Cross, the shepherds tell,
Vale of the Cross, the shepherds tell,
And pleasures to the world unknown ; * The beautiful little vale which is here referred to is situated near the town of Llangollen. The ruins of a church that was built in the form of a cross, and the remains of an abbey, shaded by hanging woods, contribute greatly to its romantic appearance.
The murmur of the distant rills,
MAID OF ALDERNEY.
O stop na', bonny bird, that strain,
Frae hopeless love itself it flows; Sweet bird, O warble it again,
Thou'st touch'd the string o' a' my woes; O! lull me with it to repose,
I'll dream of her who's far away, And fancy, as my eyelids close,
Will meet the maid of Alderney.
Couldst thou but learn frae me my grief,
Sweet bird, thou’dst leave thy native grove, And fly, to bring my soul relief,
To where my warmest wishes rove; Soft as the cooings of the dove,
Thou'lt sing thy sweetest, saddest lay, And melt to pity and to love,
The bonny maid of Alderney.
Well may I sigh and sairly weep;
Thy songs sad recollections bring; 0! ily across the roaring deep,
And to my maiden sweetly sing; 'Twill to her faithless bosom fling
Remembrance of a sacred day; But feeble is thy wee bit wing,
And far's the isle of Alderney.
Then, bonny bird, wi' mony a tear,
I'll mourn beneath this hoary thorn, And thou wilt find me sitting here,
Ere thou canst hail the dawn o' morn. Then, high on airy pinions borne,
Thou'lt chaunt a sang o' love and wae, And soothe me weeping at the scorn
O'the sweet maid of Alderney.
And when around my wearied head,
Soft pillow'd where my fathers lie, Death shall eternal poppies spread,
And close for aye my tearfu' eye, Perch'd on some bonny branch on high,
Thou’lt sing thy sweetest roundelay, And soothe my spirit passing by,
To meet the maid of Alderney.
THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST.
AIR.-" The flowers of the forest."
On the dark forest side an old minstrel sat playing,
White way'd his thin locks and sad was his lay ;
And flowers of the forest all weded away.
I weep for your fate who lie cold in the clay ;
Your mem’ry, brave heroes, lives, ne'er to decay.
Thy evening was bright as unclouded thy day ; For ever thou'lt shine in the annals of glory,
Thy laurels unsullied shall ne'er fade away. I've seen on the green, blooming maidens unfeigning,
With love their eye smiling most cheerful and gay, The lone mountain echoes now return their complaining,
Fond hope's brightest prospects are all wed away.
To the contest behold the proud foes fierce returning,
What tears must be shed at the fate of the day ! While the bards of old Scotia their harps tune to mourning,
The flowers of the forest are all wed away.
THOU'RT GANE AWA.*
Thou'rt gane awa, thou'rt gane awa,
Thou’rt gane awa frae me, Mary,
Thou'st cheated them and me, Mary.
* Two very different accounts have been given of the particular incident which gave birth to the composition of this well-known song. We shall state buth, exactly as we received them, leaving our readers to judge for themselves.
A London Magazine for the month of August, 1770, contains the following minute detail :-"A young gentleman in Ireland, on the point of marrying a lady there, to whom he had been for some time most tenderly attached, happened to receive an unexpected visit from the son of one of his father's first friends. The visitor was welcomed with every imaginable mark of kindness ; and, in order to pay him the higher compliment, the intended bride was given to him by her unsuspicious lover for a partner at a ball that early succeeded his arrival. They danced together the whole evening, and the next morn. ing, in violation of the laws of hospitality on the one part, and of every moral tie on the other, they took themselves off secretly to Scotland, where they were married.
Sorry I am (continues the editor) to add the consequences of this affair. Where a woman can be guilty of so atrocious a breach of faith, she but ill