O maid, the moon shines lovely down, And they may shine till doomsday comes, O'er his white forehead roll the waves, The wind sighs lowne and low, So wail they on-I tell thee, maid, Is worth all the souls who perish'd O mariner, O mariner, It's whisper'd in the hall, And sung upon the mountain side Among our maidens all, That the waves which fill the measure Of that wide and fatal flood Cannot cleanse the decks of thy good ship, Or wash thy hands from blood; And sailors meet, and shake their heads, And, ere they sunder, say, God keep us from Miles Colvine, On the wide and watery way! And up then spoke he, Miles Colvine, By all that's bright aboon, By all that's blessed on the earth, Or blessed on the flood, And by my sharp and stalwart blade I could not spare them; for there came With a shriek of joy at every stroke That doom'd her foes to die. O mariner, O mariner, There was a lovely dame Went down with thee unto the deep, Wrong'd her as far we ranged; But were ever woman's woes and wrongs More fearfully avenged? THE BRAES OF BALLAHUN. THOMAS CUNNINGHAM. Now smiling summer's balmy breeze, O blissful days, for ever fled, Why starts the tear, why bursts the sigh, When hills and dales rebound with joy? The flowery glen and lilied lea In vain display their charms to me. I joyless roam the heathy waste, To soothe this sad, this troubled breast; And seek the haunts of men to shun The virgin blush of lovely youth, SAY, SWEET CAROL! JOANNA BAILLIE. Say, sweet carol! who are they And the meek maid who binds her yellow hair, Say, sweet carol? who are they lout, Who sit the blazing fire about; The gossip's tale hum in his ears; The loosen'd steed in grassy stall; The hunters feasting in the hall; But most of all the maid of cheerful soul Who fills her peaceful warrior's flowing bowl. THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. THOMAS CAMPBELL, ESQ. Our bugles sung truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd, Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array, |