4
And I like these poor drooping flow’rs,
Unnotic'd and unwept and fading.
My soul is strugling to be free,
It loaths its wretched earthly dwelling;
My limbs refuse to bear their load,
Oh, God protect lone orphan Ellen.
THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE.
’Twas even—the dewy fields were green,
On every blade the pearls hang,
The Zephyrlwanton'd round the bean,
And bore its fragrant sweets alang.
In every glen the mavis sang,
All nature listening seem’d the while,
Except where greenwood echoes rang,
Amang the braes o' Ballochchmyle.
With careless steps I onward stray'd,
My heart rejoiced in natures joy.
When musing in a lonely shade,
A maiden fair I chanced, to spy:
Her look was like the morning’s aye,
Her air iike nature's vernal smile,
Perfection whispered passing by,
Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle.
