Spirits of love, who wander on,

Star of the brave!-whose beam hath shed,
Stay, glorious pageant, stay! it flies! it fades!
Stay, Lady, stay, for mercy's sake,

Steer, hither steer, your winged pines,

Subdued by misfortunes, and bowed down with pain,

Summer comes, and in her train,

note

Author of Home," 198
John Sim, 139

The gloamin' frse the welkin high,

Take, oh, take those lips away,

That life's a faught there is nae doubt,

Tell me where's the violet fled,

The bell had toll'd the midnight hour,

The boatswain's shrill whistle pip'd all hands ahoy,
The cauld blasts o' winter blaw chill o'er the plain,
The gale is high, the bark is light,

The health I once so much enjoyed,

The kiss, dear maid, thy lip has left,

They lighted a taper at the dead hour of night,
The Lord's Marie has kepp'd her locks,

The smoke from yon cottage no longer is rising,

The song that lightens the languid way.

370

The storm sweeps wildly through the sky.

John Sia,

324

The sun has gane down o'er the lofty Benlomond,

The sun was wearing down the lift,

The wandering exile, doom'd to roam,

The warrior came down from his tent on the hill,
The weary pund o' tow,

This life is all chequered with pleasures and woes,

on his head,

This pledge of affection, dear Ellen, receive,
Though the winter of age wreathes her snow

Thou art not false, but thou art fickle,

Thou dark winding Carron, once pleasing to see,
Though yon fareweel may be my last,
Thou must not linger, lovely one,
Thou'rt gane awa', thou'rt gane awa',
Thy braes are bonny, Yarrow stream,.
Thy woods and glades, sweet Arthurlie,
"Tis said that men are false and fickle,
"Tis no very lang sinsyne,

"Tis sweet, when in the glowing west,
'Tis thy will, and I must leave thee,
To England's towers of Oak, farewell,
To thee, lov'd Dee, thy gladsome vales,
To yon fause stream, that near the sea,

note

"Twas a keen frosty morn, and the snow heavy falling,

'Twas in a lonely cottage dwelling,

"Twas in the evening of a wintry day,

Vale of the cross, the shepherds tell,

note

Roscoe,

82

Weep no more by shading tree,

Weep not for the fallen brave,

We'll meet beside the dusky glen, by yon burn side,

Well! thou art happy, and I feel,

What though 'tis true I've talk'd of love,

INDEX

To Songs and other Poetical Pieces, never before Published.

W. M'Laren, 332

Robt. Glassford, 175

From his booth on the hill, the sad shepherd retires,
Her hair was like the Cromla mist,

Her kiss was soft and sweet,

How ardently my bosom glows,

How still is the night and how death-like the gloom,

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,
Isabelle! Isabelle! hark to my soft lute,

.

note

32

8

Let us haste to Kelvin grove, bonnie lassie, O,
Loud roar'd the tempest, the night was descending,
May heaven holpe the mayde,

My father and mother now lie with the dead,
Nae mair we'll meet again, my love, by yon burn side,
No, Mary, we can meet nae mair,

Now clos'd for aye thy coal-black een,
Now, Mary, now the struggle's o'er,
Now the ruddy sun is setting,

O cease, ye howling winds, to blow,

O check, my love, the falling tear,

O fare ye weel, fair Cartha's side,

O Harp! that cheered my trembling limbs,

O heard you the Mermaid of the sea,

note

Oh! holy be the sod,

Oh, once there were minutes when light my heart beat,

O! if you hae a heart to spare,

OI hae twin'd wi' meikle love,

On blythsome mead at morn to stray,

O once I felt love, but I feel it no more,

On the dark forest side, an old minstrel sat playing,

O sleep not, Mosca, but wait for thy love,

O thou hast seen the lily fair,

Ovir Castell and Towre, ovir Citie and Toune,
O we aft hae met at e'en, bonny Peggy, O,
Peace, peace to the shades of those heroes

See in pride of summer growing,
Silent and sad the minstrel sat,
Spirits of love that wander on,
Summer comes, and in her train,
Sweet's the dew-deck'd rose in June,
Sweet was yon note to fancy's ear,
That life's a faught there is nae doubt,
The bell had toll'd the midnight hour,
The gale is high, the bark is light,
The health I once so much enjoy'd,
The lovely Ellen was laid in her shroud,
The night-dew fell on a lovely rose,

The pearl of the fountain,

The primrose may blaw in the dawn o' the spring,

There's none to soothe my soul to rest,

The rose that blooms on yonder brier,

The smoke from yon cottage no longer is rising,

The storm sweeps wildly through the sky

The sun was wearing down the lift,

John Sim,

52

John Sim,

96

Why so sad is my heart, thus to leave thee alane,
Will he no come back again,

Yes, dearest maid, I love thee still,

note