Thou too, if e'er thy youthful ear Shalt hail the nymph that held the wave; CCLVIII. ROBERT BURNS, 1759—1796, And spreads her sheets o' daisies white Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams, But nought can glad the weary wight Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn, The merlè, in his noontide bower, But I, the queen of a' Scotland, I was the queen o' bonnie France, Fu' lightly rose I in the morn. And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland, Yet here I lie in foreign bands, But as for thee, thou false woman, Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword The weeping blood in woman's breast Nor the balm that drops 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, Oh! soon, to me, may summer-suns And in the narrow house o' death 2. HIGHLAND MARY. Ye banks and braes, and streams around Green be your woods, and fair your flowers. There simmer first unfall her robes, For there I took the last fareweel How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, As underneath their fragrant shade Was my sweet Highland Mary. O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 3. BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOLDIERS. Or to victorie. Now's the day, and now's the hour; See approach proud Edward's power- Wha will be a traitor knave? |