4
And I like these poor drooping flow'rs,
Unnotic'd and unwept am fading.
My soul is struggling 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 Zephyr wanton'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' Ballochmyle.
With careless steps I onward stray'd,
My heart rejoiced in nature's joy,
When musing in a lonely shade,
A maiden fair I chanced to spy:
Her look was like the morning's aye,
Her hair like nature's vernal smile,
Perfection whispered passed by,
Behold the lass of Ballochmyle.
