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The hawthorn 's budding in the glen,
And milk-white is the slae:
May rove their sweets amang:
Maun lie in prison strang.
I was the Queen o' bonnie France,
Where happy I hae been,
As blythe lay down at e’en :
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,
That thro' thy soul shall gae :
Was never known to thee;
Frae woman's pitying e'e.
My son! my son! may kinder stars
Upon thy fortune shine;
That ne'er wad blink on mine!
Or turn their hearts to thee;
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 !
LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF
HE wind blew hollow frae the hills,.
By fits the sun's departing beam
Look'd on the fading yellow woods That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream:
Beneath a craigy steep, a Bard,
Laden with years and meikle pain, Iu loud lament bewail'd his lord,
Whom death had all untimely ta’en.
He lean’d bim to an ancient aik,
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 !
The honours of the aged year!
Again ye 'll charm the ear and e'e;
Can gladness bring again to me.
“I am a bending aged tree,
That long has stood the wind and-rain ;