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The hawthorn's budding in the glen,
May rove their sweets amang: But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, Maun lie in prison strang.
I was the Queen o' bonnie France,
But as for thee, thou false woman,
The weeping blood in woman's breast
Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe
My son! my son may kinder stars
And may those pleasures gild thy reign,
God keep thee frae thy mother's faes,
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, Remember him for me!
Oh! soon, to me, may summer suns
And in the narrow house o' death
Let winter round me rave;
And the next flow'rs, that deck the spring, Bloom on my peaceful grave!
LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN.
HE wind blew hollow frae the hills,. By fits the sun's departing beam Look'd on the fading yellow woods That way'd o'er Lugar's winding stream:
Beneath a craigy steep, a Bard,
Laden with years and meikle pain, In loud lament bewail'd his lord, Whom death had all untimely ta'en.
He lean'd him to an ancient aik,
Whose trunk was mould'ring down with years;
His locks were bleached white with time,
"Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing,
"I am a bending aged tree,
That long has stood the wind and rain ;