“ As we clung to each other i' the last embrace,
⁠The soul of love revealing?
O hast thou forgotten that sacred spot,
⁠Where the farewell word was spoken?
Is the sigh and the tear and all forgot,—
⁠Is the vow and the promise broken?
Then, for ever farewell, thou false fair one!
⁠Though other arms caress thee,—
Though a fairer youth thy heart should gain,
⁠And a smoother tongue should bless thee;—
Yet never again on thy warm, young cheek
⁠Will breathe a soul more warm than mine;
And never again will a lover speak
⁠Of love more pure to thine! ”

“ Know'st thou the land of the mountain and flood,
Where the pine of the forest for ages hath stood,
Where the eagle comes forth on the wings of the storm,
And her young ones are rock'd on the high Cairngor'm?
Know'st thou the land where the cold Celtic wave
Encircles the hills which its blue waters lave;
Where the virgins are pure as the gems of the sea,
And their spirits are light as their actions are free? ”

“ The shepherd thus sung: "Though young Maddie be fair,
Her beauty is dash'd with a scornful proud air;
But Susie was handsome, and sweetly could sing;
Her breath's like the breezes perfumed in the spring.
"That Maddie, in all the gay bloom of her youth,
Like the moon, was inconstant, and never spoke truth;
But Susie was faithful, good-humour'd, and free,
And fair as the goddess that sprung from the sea. ”

“ To sunshine we fly from too piercing an air;
But love's ardent fire burns always the same,
No winter can cool it, no summer inflame.
But see the pale moon, all clouded, retires;
The breezes grow cool, not Strephon's desires:
I fly from the dangers of tempest and wind,
Yet nourish the madness that preys on my mind.
Ah, wretch! how can life be worthy thy care? ”

“ And breathe not a vow but to friendship and thee.
But thy presence appears from my pursuit to fly,
Like the gold-colour'd cloud on the verge of the sky;
No lustre that hangs on the green willow tree
Is so short as the smile of thy favour to me.
In the pulse of my heart I have nourish'd a care,
That forbids me thy sweet inspiration to share;
The noon of my youth slow departing I see,
Eut its years as they pass bring no tidings of thee. ”

“ Just so 'tis with us, though we labour with pain,
⁠Yet we hear with unmingled delight,
The whisp'rings of hope tell again and again,
⁠Of a harvest of pleasure at night.
How soothing it is, when we bumper it up,
⁠To a friend on a far distant shore,
Or how sweetly it tastes, when we flavour the cup,
⁠With the name of the maid we adore!
Then here's to the maid, then, and here's to the friend,
⁠May they always prove true to their plight,
May their days glide as smooth and as merrily round,
⁠As the bumpers we pledge them to-night. ”

“ To drink plenty and peace to the dear Land of Cakes.
Though the Bourbon may boast of his vine-cover'd hills,—
Through each bosom the tide of depravity thrills;
Though the Indian may sit in his green orange bowers,—
There slavery's wail counts the weariesome hours:
Though our island is beat by the storms of the north,—
There blaze the bright meteors of valour and worth,
There the loveliest rose-bud of beauty awakes
From that cradle of virtue—the dear Land of Cakes. ”

“ A false lover woo'd her—ye damsels be wary—
⁠Now scathed is the blossom, now dimm'd is the ray.
You have seen her, when morn brightly dawn'd on the mountain,
⁠Trip blythely along, singing sweet to the gale;
At noon, with her lambs, by the side of yon fountain;
⁠Or wending, at eve, to her home in the vale.
With the flowers of the willow-tree blent is her tresses,
⁠Now, woe-worn and pale, in the glen she is seen
Bewailing the cause of her rueful distresses,—
⁠How fondly he vow'd—and how false he has been. ”

“ How blest that youth, whom gentle fate
Has destined for so fair a mate!
Has all these wond'rous gifts in store,
And each returning day brings more;
No youth so happy can be seen,
Possessing thee, my Highland queen. ”

“ But now a brow of gloom
Pourtrays, in characters of care,
That it is pleasure's tomb.
Yet none shall hear the sigh
That struggles to be free,
No tear shall trace this sallow cheek,
Nor murmur burst from me. ”

“ The summer hath pass'd o'er the Yarrow's green mountains,
⁠The birch trembled wild by Loch Mary's lone shore;
The winter approaches to bind up the fountains,
⁠But the Bard of the Forest shall cheer us no more.
No more shall he stray in the dusk of the gloaming,
⁠To dream of the spirits in lands far away! ”

“ The time is so tender for lovers to meet
⁠Alone by the light of the moon.
I cannot when present unfold what I feel:
⁠I sigh—can a lover do more?
Her name to the shepherds I never reveal,
⁠Yet I think of her all the day o'er.
Maria, my love! do you long for the grove?
⁠Do you sigh for an interview soon?
Does e'er a kind thought run on me as you rove
⁠Alone by the light of the moon?
Your name from the shepherds whenever I hear
⁠My bosom is all in a glow;
Your voice, when it vibrates so sweet through mine ear,
⁠My heart thrills—my eyes overflow. ”

“ The pride of my country is fallen for ever!
⁠Death, hast thou no shaft for old Callum-a-Glen?
The sun in his glory has looked on our sorrow,
⁠The stars have wept blood over hamlet and lea:
Oh, is there no day-spring for Scotland? no morrow
⁠Of bright renovation for souls of the free?
Yes: one above all has beheld our devotion;
⁠Our valour and faith are not hid from his ken;
The day is abiding of stern retribution
⁠On all the proud foes of old Callum-a-Glen. ”

“ At eve, on my heath-cover'd couch of repose,
⁠No dreams, save of Mary, were spread to my view;
And warm to the skies my devotions arose,
⁠For the first of my prayers was a blessing on you.
Yet the day may arrive, when the mountains once more
⁠Shall rise to my sight in their mantles of snow;
But while these soar above me, unchang'd as before,
⁠Will Mary be there to receive me? ah no!
Adieu! then, ye hills, where my childhood was bred—
⁠Thou sweet flowing Dee, to thy waters adieu!
No home in the forest shall shelter my head,—
⁠Ah Mary! what home could be mine without you? ”

“ I have trod merry England, and dwelt on its charms;
I have wandered through Erin, that gem of the sea;
But the Highlands alone the true Scottish heart warms,
For her heather is blooming, her eagles are free. ”

“ One star of the morning.
[Robert Gilfillan.—Tune, "One bumper at Parting."]
One star of the morning still lingers
⁠Amid the deep blue of the sky,
O! it waits for the sun and my Mary
⁠To light up the green earth with joy.
Then haste, love, the fair lily's weeping,
⁠The young rose is drooping in dew;
The lark, in its sweet dream, is sleeping,
⁠Till wakened by nature and you! ”

“ O look, my love! on every spray
A feather'd warbler tunes his lay;
'Tis beauty fires the ravish'd throng,
And love inspires the melting song:
Then let the raptured notes arise:
For beauty darts from Nannie's eyes ”

“ Beside lovely Helen, 'twas joy without measure,
⁠The fairest, the dearest, the sweetest was there!
A boon may I venture to beg frae thee. Heaven?
⁠Amid a' my care, an' my toil, an' my fear,
Be the heart-warmin' impulse o' frien'ship me given,
⁠To live in her smile, or be worthy her tear:
An' never, thou dread power. Adversity, bend her;
⁠Frae sadness an' sorrow, oh! aye be she free:
That ilka true bliss may for ever attend her,—
⁠Is the prayer o' the poet, dear Helen, for thee. ”

“ On the green banks of Neidpath, whilst pensively roaming,
⁠To mark the dull shadows that creep o'er the plain,
I count the lang hours, and I sigh for the gloaming,
⁠For then I shall meet with my Anna again.
I'll watch when the swain to his cottage is wending,
⁠I'll watch when the bird gangs to sleep on the tree,
I'll watch when the shadows of eve are descending,
⁠And then, dearest Anna, I'll hasten to thee. ”

“ And the flowers with dew-drops glistening
⁠Sparkle like the eye of love.
Night so calm, so clear, so cloudless;
⁠Blessed night to love and me!
Let us roam by bower and fountain,
⁠All is lovelier when with thee. ”

“ On thee I'll lavish all my lays,
⁠Thou lovely lass of Pittenweem!"
There is a magic charm in youth,
⁠By which the heart of age is won;
That charm is innocence and truth,
⁠And beauty is its summer sun! ”

“ The Banks of the Esk.
[Alex. Smart.—Here first printed.]
In life's sunny morning, by Esk's winding stream,
My days glided by like a beautiful dream,
And free as a bird I would carelessly rove,
Indulging fond visions of beauty and love.
Then nature was clad in her richest of green,
And youth's bounding pulse lent a charm to the scene,
While each living thing in its joy was a part
Of the gladness that found a sweet home in my heart. ”

“ It is na beauty's fairest bloom,
⁠It is na maiden charms consign'd,
And hurried to an early tomb,
⁠That wrings my heart and clouds my mind;
But sparkling wit, and sense refin'd,
⁠And spotless truth without disguise,
Make me with sighs enrich the wind
⁠That fans the grave whare Mary lies. ”

“ Or, stripp'd of their all, saving conscience and honour,
⁠The grass growing rank on their hearths and their halls,
Farewell to thee, Scotland, thy loftiest mountain
⁠Is fading and blending with ocean and sky,
I groan—for my tears are dried up at the fountain—
⁠A wanderer I've lived, and an exile I'll die. ”

“ And every bird I'll teach a song, a plaintive song of woe,
But Mary cannot hear their strains?—ah! no, no, no!
Slow steals the sun a-down the sky, as loth to part with day,
But airy morn with carolling voice shall wake him forth as gay ”

“ And where around her William's grave,
⁠The sea-bird is crying.
And oft on Jura's lonely shore,
Where surges beat and billows roar,
She sat—but grief has nipt her bloom,
And there they made young Ellen's tomb. ”

“ Mary's shrine,
That makes a paradise on earth, if hearts and hands combine;
And every lord and lady bright that were in chapel there,
Cried, "Honoured be the bravest knight—be loved the fairest fair." ”

“ Awake! the balmy zephyr blows,
The hawthorn blooms, the daisy glows,
The trees regain their verdant pride,
The turtle woos his tender bride;
To love each warbler tunes the song,
And Forth in dimples glides along. ”

“ Sweet glen! what then makes thee an Eden to me?
'Tis the lass with the bright and the blue rolling e'e.
Yes, maid of my love! as a bee that has found
Some sweet-laden bloom, as it wanders around,
Returns and returns oft to feast on his prize,
Even so my heart moves to drink love from thine eyes.
False friendship may flatter, coy fortune may smile,
And hope's dazzling meteor shine soon to beguile;
Away with such shadows! there's nothing to me
Like the lass with the bright and the blue rolling e'e. ”

“ But the sun of freedom shines in my ain countrie.
There's a hope for every woe, and a balm for ev'ry pain,
But the first joys of our heart come never back again.
There's a track upon the deep, and a path across the sea,
But the weary ne'er return to their ain countrie. ”

“ Ye winds of the hill, wake your wailings of sorrow,
⁠No beams of the morning can gladness bestow!
Arise, ye grey mists, from the loud falling Corrie,
⁠And shroud from our children the sad sight of wail;
The warriors that left them high bounding for glory
⁠Shall never return to the land of the Gael.
Our maidens have twined the wild mountain flowers.
⁠To crown their young lovers they wait their return;
Alas, for their fondness! they know not of hours
⁠When tidings of sorrow shall bid them to mourn. ”

“ His heart must be like bended bow,
⁠His foot like arrow free, Mary.
A time will come with feeling fraught
For, if I fall in battle fought,
Thy hapless lover's dying thought
⁠Shall be a thought on thee, Mary? ”

“ How light was my step, and my heart, O how gay!
⁠The broom blooms bonnie, the broom blooms fair;
Till Phebe was crown'd our queen of the May,
⁠When the bloom o' the broom strew'd its sweets on the air.
She was mine when the snaw-draps hung white on the lea,
⁠Ere the broom bloom'd bonnie, an' grew sae fair;
Till May-day, anither wysed Phebe frae me.
⁠So I ne'er will gae down to the broom ony mair.
Sing, Love, thy fond promises melt like the snaw,
⁠When broom waves lonely, an' bleak blaws the air ”

“ Nor the chief of the hall;—we are thine as of yore!
Green Albyn, farewell! when our footsteps shall stray
On the banks where Lake Erie expands to the day,
In our bonnets the rough-bearded thistle shall twine,
And be dear to our souls, as a symbol of thine! ”

“ Pale, lonely, and pensive, I steal thro' the glades,
⁠And sigh 'midst the darkness my moan.
In vain to the town I retreat for relief;
⁠In vain to the groves I complain;
Belles, coxcombs, and uproar, can ne'er sooth my grief,
⁠And solitude nurses my pain.
Still absent from her whom my bosom loves best,
⁠I languish in mis'ry and care;
Her presence could banish each woe from my breast,
⁠But her absence, alas! is despair.
Ye dark rugged rocks, that recline o'er the deep,
⁠Ye breezes, that sigh o'er the main,
Oh! ”

“ They hear the wild winds murmuring shrill,
⁠And all is hush'd again.
Thy bard his pealing harp has broke—
⁠His fire, his joy of song, is past!
One lay to mourn thy fate he woke,
⁠His saddest, and his last. ”

“ Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr.
'Tis not the surging billows' roar,
'Tis not that fatal, deadly shore;
Though death in every shape appear,
The wretched have no more to fear
But round my heart the ties are bound. ”

“ My bosom melts wi' joyous feeling,
⁠Scotland dear!
When I shall die, O I wad lie
Where life an' me first met thegither,
That my cauld clay, through its decay,
Might bloom again in the mountain heather,
⁠Scotland dear! ”

“ And, while the world is dreaming,
⁠We'll talk of love, my dear,
None, my Jean, will share this bosom,
Where thine image loves to blossom,
And no storm will ever sever
⁠That dear flower, or part us ever. ”

“ Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever.
Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest,
And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest!
And thou art the angel that never can alter;
Sooner the sun in his motion shall falter. ”

“ This beauteous flow'r, this rose of Yarrow,
In nature's gardens has no marrow.
Had I of heaven but one request,
I'd ask to lie on Mary's breast;
There would I live or die with pleasure,
Nor spare this world one moment's leisure ”

“ Still may love, but ne'er again
Will they wake the gifted strain
⁠O' Burns and Caledonia.
While his native vales among,
Love is felt, or beauty sung,
Hearts will beat and harps be strung
⁠To Burns and Caledonia. ”