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O hang your heads while I bemoan My true-love Sandy, far awa.
Alas! frae Scotia's peacefu' shore,Where blooming first he caught my ee—Beyond the broad Atlantic's roar,He roams unknown, afar frae me.For him wi' grief my bosom's torn!For him my tears unnumber'd fa!—In pensive woe, anon I mournMy true-love Sandy, far awa.
When, in the midnight silent hours,Bright Fancy's dreams around me rove,Conducting me to Indian bow'rs,Or clasping him in some wild grove,O how with rapture him I hail!In bliss the sigh of love I draw!But soon, ah! soon, I wake to wailMy true love Sandy, far awa.
THE TEAR.
On beds of snow the moon-beam slept,And chilly was the midnight gloom,When by the damp grave Ellen wept;Sweet maid! it was her Lindor's tomb.
A warm tear gush'd, the wintry airCongeal'd it as it flow'd away;
