6
'Tis there I'd soothe thy grief to rest,
Each sigh of sorrow quell,
In a starry light of a summer's night,
On the Banks of the blue Mozelle,
On the Banks of the blue Mozelle.
Farewell to the Mountain.
Farewell to the mountain,
And sun-lighted vale,
The moss-bordered streamlets,
And sun-lighted vale.
All so bright, all so fair,
Here a seraph might dwell,
'Tis too lovely for me,
Farewell! Oh, Farewell!
Farewell, for how sweetly
Each sound meets mine ear;
The wild bee and butterly,
They may rest here.
Hark, hark, they are hum,
How it blends with the deep convent bell,
'Tis too lovely for me,
Farewell,-Oh, Farewell:
The Macgregor's Gathering.
The moon's on the lake and the mist's on the brae,
And the clan has a name that is nameless by day;
Our signal for fight, which from monarchs we drew,
Must be heard out by night in our vengeful haloo;
Then haloo, haloo, haloo, Gregarach.
