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XXVII.

THE MINSTREL,

A Fragment.

Silent and sad the minstrel sat,

And thought on the days of yore; He was old, yet he lov’d his native land,

Tho' his harp could charm no more.

The winds of heaven died away,

And the moon in the valley slept, The minstrel lean'd on his olden harp,

And o'er its strains he wept.

In youth he had stood by the Wallace side,

And sung in King Robert's hall, When Edward vow'd with his English host

Scotland to hold in thrall.

But the Wallace wight was dead and gone,

And Robert was on his death-bed, And dark was the hall where the minstrel sung

: Of chiefs that for Scotia bled.

But oft, as twilight stole o'er the steep

And the woods of his native vale, Would the minstrel wake his harp to weep,

And sigh to the mountain gale.

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O fare thee weel, fair Cartha's side,

For ever, ever fare thee weel! Upon thy banks I've oft enjoy'd

What virtuous love alone can feel. With Anna as I fondly stray'd,

And mark'd the gowan's hamely mien, The vilet blue, the primrose gay,

Enrich'd the joyful fairy scene.

The sun had set; the western clouds

Began to lose their radiance bright; The inavis' tuneful note was hush'd,

And all proclaim'd approaching night;

Then was the time I fondly pour’d

In Anna's ear my ardent tale, She blush'd, and oft I fondly thought

That love like mine would soon prevail.

She spoke, she look'd as if she lov'd,

Yet, ah! how false was Anna's heart ! Tho' heavenly fair her angel form,

How fraught with guile, how full of art! Now far from Anna, far from home,

By Lugar's stream I sadly mourn; I think on scenes I still must love,

On scenes that never can return.

O fare ye weel, fair Cartha's banks, .

And Anna-0!- a long fareweel! Nor ever may that pang be thine,

Which my sad heart so oft doth feel. But happy, happy may'st thou be,

By fairy scenes on Cartha's side, And may a better far than me,

Thro' life be tby true love and guide.

XXIX.

MAID OF ORANSAY.

Let high Benledi rear its tap,
Crown'd wi' a diadem o snaw;
Or, at its feet, let hazels drap
Their diamonds in the leafy shaw :
Let storms owre wild Benlomond blaw,
And chill the lambs on glen and brae,
The storm blaws sweetly, far awa',
Amang the braes of Oransay.

When tempests lash the foaming waves,
And a' around is wild and drear;
And the wee petterel trembling braves
The howling blast, while death is near:
A stranger will I be to fear,
Tho' Corryvekans round me play,
I'll drap the last, the loneliest tear
For the sweet Maid of Oransay.

O Oransay's a lovely isle,
It is a paradise to me,
For there the wildest beauties smile,
To warm the soul or glad the e'e ;

* A famous whirlpool not far from Oransas.

Pure is the rapture yet to be,
When Peggy gilds my darkening day,
And mony a bonny sun I'll see,
Glint owre the bents of Oransay,

The dark Atlantic wave may roar
Around my Isle in noisy pride--
The mountain surge may sweep the shore,
And send its thunders far and wide
But when I'm nestled by the side
Of her whom a' my thoughts obey,
I'll smile at storms, and clasp my bride,
The lovely Maid of Oransay.

XXX.

TIBBY, I HAE SEEN THE DAY.

0 Tibby, I hae seen the day
Ye wou'd na been sae shy :
For laik o'gear ye lightly me;
But, trowth, I care na by.

Yestreen I met you on the moor,
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stowre:
Ye geck at me because I'm poor,
But fient a hair care I.

O Tibby, I hae, fc.

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