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The Lazy ist.

TUNE—Here's a health to my true love."

The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill, Concealing the course of the dark, winding rill: How languid the scenes, late so sprightly, appear, As Autumn to Winter resigns the pale year.

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The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown,
And all the gay foppery of Summer is flown :
A part let me wander, apart let me muse,
How quick Time is Aying, how keen Fate pursues!

How long I have lived—but how much lived in

vain ! How little of life's scanty span may remain ! What aspects old Time, in his progress, has worn! What ties cruel Fate in my bosom has torn! How foolish, or worse, till our summit is gain’d! And downward, how weaken'd, how darken'd, how

pain'd!

This life's not worth having, with all it can give-For something beyond it poor man sure must live.

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Df a' the dirts the mind can Blaw.

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OF a' the airts the wind can blaw,

I dearly like the west,
For there the bonny lassie lives,

The lassie I lo'e best :

There wild woods grow, and rivers row,

And mony a hill between ;
But day and night, my fancy's flight

Is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers,

I see her sweet and fair ;

I hear her in the tunefu' birds,

I hear her charm the air:

There's not a bonny flower that springs

By fountain, shaw, or green,
There's not a bonny bird that sings,

But minds me omy Jean.

To nary in heaven.

TUNE—Death of Captain Cook.”

Thou ling’ring star, with less’ning ray,

That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usher'st in the day

My Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ?

Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast?

That sacred hour can I forget,

Can I forget the hallow'd grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met,

To live one day of parting love! Eternity will not efface

Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace;

Ah! little thought we 'twas 'our last !

Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore,

O'erhung with wild woods, thick’ning green ; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,

Twined amorous round the raptured scene ; The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,

The birds sang love on every sprayTill too, too soon, the glowing west

Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.

Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes,

And fondly broods with miser care ! Time but the impression stronger makes,

As streams their channels deeper wear. My Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ?

Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast?

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