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Farewell for aye : a salt tear dims
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,
Oh ! she will hear thee oft bewail
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,
Now, take with thee his last faint smile,
A coggie o' ale, and a pickle ait meal, . . .
remains, . . . . . . . nole
. . note
Beyond Busaco's mountains dun,.
note Blow on, ye wild winds, o'er his hallowed
. . . . note Blythely I hae screwed my pipes, . . . . By the side of a mountain, o'ershadowed with trees, .
Can a crown give content, .
Paintly as tolls the evening chime, . . note
night, . . . . . . note
Happy the world in that blest age, . . .
. . 356 Have you not seen the timid tear, . . . . Moore, . 333 Have you sailed on the breast of the deep.. . Blackwood's Mag., 392 Here, beneath this willow sleepeth, . . , Mrs Opie, . 134 Her hair was like the Cromla mist, . . . . R. Allan, . Her kiss was soft and sweet, . . . . . . James Yool, Here's to them that's awa,
Burns, . Here's to thy health, my bonny lass, . . . . Burns, . How ardently my bosom glows, .
James Yool, How eerily, how drearily, how wearily to pine, How green the fields, the flowers how fair, . note Patie Birnie, 289 How still is the night, and how death-like the gloom, J. D., .
I come in the mor, I come in the hour, . note
In vain thou call'st for a mirthful smile, . . . W. Reader, 327 Isabelle ! Isabelle ! hark to my soft lute, . . .
. 409 I saw from the beach when the morning was shining,
Moore, I saw thee weep-the big bright tear,
Byron, I saw thy form in youthful prime, . . . . Moore,
. 51 Is there a man whose breast ne'er glowd, . . .
171 Its filmy wing of azure hue, It was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound
for Palestine, , . note Fanny de Beauharnois, 361 I've no sheep on the mountains, nor boat on the lake, Joanna Baillie, 69 I whispered her my last adieu, . . . note Camoens, . 371
Keen and cold is the blast loudly whistling around, ,
Let every valiant son of Gaul, . . note Marquis de Paulmy, 248
Maiden, wrap thy mantle round thee,