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"False!—yet belov'd—forgiv'n—adieu!"— Her quiv'ring lips no more could say;To happier realms the spirit flew— To realms of everlasting day!
Poor Rosa! in the grave was laid; But frantic Gavin, far and wide,Long, long, a houseless maniac stray'd, Still raving on his murder'd bride.
And she, whose base, detested fraud Had lur'd his erring heart astray,Despis'd, deserted, and abhor'd, In friendless mis'ry pines away.
THE VALLEY OF TOW.[1]
In an isle of the North, where the keen ocean breeze Whistles shrilly and wild o'er the heath-cover'd hills,Where the rude cliffs are wash'd by the merciless seas, Where bleak are the valleys, and scanty the rills;
- ↑ A beautiful and romantic valley in Conningsburgh, Zetland; the property of A. Duncan, esq.
