The flower now fading on the lea, The leaf just falling frae the tree, For thou art fled, my bonnie boy, ALLAN-A-MAUT. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. Good Allan-a-Maut lay on the rigg, Good Allan-a-Maut grew green and rank, THE CAPTIVE HUNTSMAN. SIR WALTER SCOTT. My hawk is tired of perch and hood, I hate to learn the ebb of time, The lark was wont my matin ring, These towers, although a king's they be, No more at dawning morn I rise, And sun myself in Ellen's eyes, That life is lost to love and me. JEAN'S BRIGHT EEN. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. Our gudewife's awa', Now's the hour to woo, I have wale of loves: Nancie rich and fair, And Kate wi' curling hair, Wi' gold aboon her brow; But my Jean has twa een That glower me thro' and thro'. Sair she slights the lads— Three lie like to die, Four in sorrow listed, And five flew to the sea. Nigh her chamber door VOL. IV. Lads watch a' night in dool U Ae kind word frae my love Our gudewife's come hame When she sings at her wark, EARL MARCH. THOMAS CAMPBELL, ESQ. Earl March look'd on his dying child, She's at the window many an hour, His coming to discover; And her love look'd up to Ellen's bower, And she look'd on her lover. But ah! so pale, he knew her not, Though her smile on him was dwelling. And am I then forgot-forgot? It broke the heart of Ellen. In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs, Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyes PHEMIE IRVING. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. Gay is thy glen, Corrie, With all thy groves flowering; Green is thy glen, Corrie, When July is showering; And sweet is yon wood where Her round neck is whiter Than winter when snowing; Her meek voice is milder Than Ae in its flowing; The glad ground yields music Where she goes by the river; |