O list to the tale! 'tis a tale of soft sorrow,

Of Malcolm of Lorn, and young Ann of Glen-Ora.

II.

The sun is sweet at early morn,

Just blushing from the ocean's bosom;
The rose that decks the woodland thorn
Is fairest in its opening blossom;
Sweeter than opening rose in dew,
Than vernal flowers of richest hue,

Than fragrant birch or weeping willow,

Than red sun resting on the billow;

Sweeter than aught to mortals given

The heart and soul to prove;

Sweeter than aught beneath the heaven,

The joys of early love!

Never did maiden, and manly youth,

Love with such fervor, and love with such truth;

Or pleasures and virtues alternately borrow,

As Malcolm of Lorn, and fair Ann of Glen-Ora.

III.

The day is come, the dreaded day,

Must part two loving hearts for ever; The ship lies rocking in the bay,

The boat comes rippling up the river:

O happy has the gloaming's eye

In green Glen-Ora's bosom seen them!
But soon shall lands and nations lie,
And angry oceans roll between them.

Yes, they must part, for ever part,
Chill falls the truth on either heart;

For honour, titles, wealth, and state,

In distant lands her sire await.

The maid must with her sire

She cannot stay behind;

away,

Strait to the south the pennons play,

And steady is the wind.

Shall Malcolm relinquish the home of his youth,
And sail with his love to the lands of the south?

Ah, no! for his father is gone to the tomb :
One parent survives in her desolate home!

No child but her Malcolm to cheer her lone way: Break not her fond heart, gentle Malcolm, O, stay!

IV.

The boat impatient leans ashore,

Her prow sleeps on a sandy pillow;

The rower leans upon his oar,

Already bent to brush the billow. O! Malcolm, view yon melting eyes,

With tears yon stainless roses steeping!

O! Malcolm, list thy mother's sighs;

She's leaning o'er her staff and weeping!

Thy Anna's heart is bound to thine,

And must that gentle heart repine!

Quick from the shore the boat must fly;
Her soul is speaking through her eye;
Think of thy joys in Ora's shade;

From Anna canst thou sever?

Think of the vows thou often hast made,

To love the dear maiden for ever.

And canst thou forego such beauty and youth,
Such maiden honour and spotless truth?

Forbid it! He yields; to the boat he draws nigh.
Haste, Malcolm, aboard, and revert not thine eye.

V.

That trembling voice, in murmurs weak,

Comes not to blast the hopes before thee;

For pity, Malcolm, turn, and take

A last farewell of her that bore thee.

She

says no word to mar thy bliss;

A last embrace, a parting kiss,

Her love deserves;-then be thou gone;

A mother's joys are thine alone.

Friendship may fade, and fortune prove

Deceitful to thy heart;

But never can a mother's love

From her own offspring part.
That tender form, now bent and gray,

Shall quickly sink to her native clay;

Then who shall watch her parting breath,
And shed a tear o'er her couch of death?
Who follow the dust to its long long home,

And lay that head in an honoured tomb?

VI.

Oft hast thou, to her bosom prest,

For many a day about been borne;

Oft hushed and cradled on her breast,

And canst thou leave that breast forlorn?

O'er all thy ails her heart has bled;
Oft has she watched beside thy bed;
Oft prayed for thee in dell at even,
Beneath the pitying stars of heaven.
Ah! Malcolm, ne'er was parent yet

So tender, so benign!

Never was maid so loved, so sweet,

Nor soul so rent as thine!

He looked to the boat,-slow she heaved from the

shore ;

He saw his loved Anna all speechless implore: