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But I, the Queen of a' Scotland,

Maun lie in prison strang."

The hawthorn's budding in the glen,
And milk-white is the slae:
The meanest hind in fair Scotland

May rove their sweets amang: But I, the Queen of a' Scotland, Maun lie in prison strang.

I was the Queen o' bonnie France,
Where happy I hae been,
Fu' lightly rase I in the morn,
As blythe lay down at e'en :
And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland,
And mony a traitor there;
Yet here I lie in foreign bands,
And never-ending care.

But as for thee, thou false woman,
My sister and my fae,
Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword
That thro' thy soul shall gae:

The weeping blood in woman's breast
Was never known to thee;

Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe
Frae woman's pitying e'e.

My son! my son may kinder stars
Upon thy fortune shine;

And may those pleasures gild thy reign,
That ne'er wad blink on mine!

God keep thee frae thy mother's faes,
Or turn their hearts to thee;

And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, Remember him for me!

Oh! soon, to me, may summer suns
Nae mair light up the morn!
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds
Wave o'er the yellow corn!

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!


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,
His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears;
And as he touch'd his trembling harp,
And as he tun'd his doleful sang,
The winds, lamenting thro' their caves,
To echo bore the notes alang.

"Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing,
The reliques of the vernal quire !
Ye woods that shed on a' the winds
The honours of the aged year!
A few short months, and glad and gay,
Again ye 'll charm the ear and e'e;
But nocht in all revolving time
Can gladness bring again to me.

"I am a bending aged tree,

That long has stood the wind and rain ;

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