Music to me were the wildest winds' roaring, That e'er, o'er Inch Keith drove the dark ocean faem. When the lights they did blaze, and the guns they did rattle, And blithe was each heart for the great victory, In secret I wept for the dangers of battle, And thy glory itself was scarce comfort to me. But now shalt thou tell, while I eagerly listen, Of each bold adventure, and every brave scar; And trust me, I'll smile, though my een they may glisten; For sweet after danger's the tale of the war. And oh, how we doubt when there's distance 'tween lovers, When there's naething to speak to the heart thro' the ee; How often the kindest and warmest prove rovers, And the love of the faithfullest ebbs like the sea. Till, at times-could I help it?-I pined and I ponder'd, If love could change notes like the bird on the tree Now I'll ne'er ask if thine eyes may hae wander'd, Enough, thy leal heart has been constant to me. Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and through channel, Hardships and danger despising for fame, Furnishing story for glory's bright annal, Welcome, my wanderer, to Jeanie and hame! Enough now thy story in annals of glory Has humbled the pride of France, Holland, and Spain; No more shalt thou grieve me, no more shalt thou leave me, I never will part with my Willie again. HUNTING SONG.' WAKEN, lords and ladies gay, With hawk, and horse, and hunting-spear! Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, Merrily, merrily, mingle they, "Waken, lords and ladies gay." Waken, lords and ladies gay, 1 [First published in the Edinburgh Annual Register of 1808,-and set to a Welsh air in "THOMSON'S Select Melodies," vol. iii. 1817.] Waken, lords and ladies gay, We can show the marks he made, 66 Waken, lords and ladies gay.” Louder, louder chant the lay, Time, stern huntsman! who can baulk, THE RETURN TO ULSTER.1 ONCE again, but how changed since my wand'rings began I have heard the deep voice of the Lagan and Bann, And the pines of Clanbrassil resound to the roar, That wearies the echoes of fair Tullamore. Alas! my poor bosom, and why shouldst thou burn! With the scenes of my youth can its raptures return? Can I live the dear life of delusion again, That flow'd when these echoes first mix'd with my strain ? It was then that around me, though poor and unknown, High spells of mysterious enchantment were thrown ; 1 [First published in Mr. G. Thomson's Collection of Irish Airs, 1816.] |