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the condemned.
Oh! blest be those early days, bright and unclouded
The memory of all thy past kindness and care;
And hallowed thy clay in the snowy robe shrouded,
And laid in thy church-yard to slumber, O Ayr.
The memory of all thy past kindness and care;
And hallowed thy clay in the snowy robe shrouded,
And laid in thy church-yard to slumber, O Ayr.
Oh! sadly we miss thee, who calmly art sleeping,
Not neath the blue skies of thine own native plains—
The breeze of a stranger land softly is sweeping
The green grass which covers thy sacred remains.
Not neath the blue skies of thine own native plains—
The breeze of a stranger land softly is sweeping
The green grass which covers thy sacred remains.
Thou art gone from us, Mother; yet, while we deplore thee,
We mourn not as those without hope, for we feel
That a great and a glorious change has come o'er thee,
Too wondrous for us to conceive or reveal.
We mourn not as those without hope, for we feel
That a great and a glorious change has come o'er thee,
Too wondrous for us to conceive or reveal.
The Condemned.
My lost one, I behold her yet,
All lovely as when first we met:
A brow more sweet, more downy fair,
Never gleamed beneath luxuriant hair;
Her eye how softly languishing!
Though darker than the raven's wing,
Its beams were brighter than the star
Beheld in the blue heavens afar;
From 'neath its fringe of silken jet
It languishes upon me yet.
All lovely as when first we met:
A brow more sweet, more downy fair,
Never gleamed beneath luxuriant hair;
Her eye how softly languishing!
Though darker than the raven's wing,
Its beams were brighter than the star
Beheld in the blue heavens afar;
From 'neath its fringe of silken jet
It languishes upon me yet.
