When lonely thou wander'st.
[From "The "Witches of Keil's Glen, a Dramatic Fragment, with other Poems, by David Arnott," printed at Cupar in Fifeshire in 1825. Mr. Arnott is now a clergyman in Dundee.]
When lonely thou wanderest along by the wild wood,
As twilight steals over the earth like a dream;
An' nature, all lovely as when in her childhood,
On thy heart and thine eye in beauty may beam.
When over the world the grey shades are returning,
And the star of the evening all silent is burning,
With splendour celestial the heavens adorning,
And thy soul is enraptured by ecstacy's gleam.
Then think of thy lover who sigheth in sadness,
When viewing that star as he wanders alone,
Which once to his soul was the emblem of gladness,
As thy faithful bosom he rested upon.
Oh! think of the woes on his heart that are preying,
And think of that love that can know no decaying,
And, oh! may that breast never dream of betraying
The youth it has blest in the days that are gone.
The Maid I lo'e.
[John Mitchell.—Here first printed.]
O! blithely smiles the moon when the glowring day's awa',
And saft the balmy breeze creeps aroun' the Stanely shaw,
And lightly o'er the moor I trip when night begins to fa'
To meet Gleniffer's fairest flower, the maid I lo'e.
The bonnie bonnie rose, and the lily gemm'd wi' dew,
The crawflower and the pink the gay summer will renew,
But 'mid the winter's cauld mair than summer's flowers I pu'
When I kiss the rosy lips o' her I lo'e.
Her e'e o' bonnie blue wi' the diamond may compare,
Her teeth o' ivory tell the sweets that linger there,
And on her brow sits majesty wreath'd in the raven hair
That gracefully adorns the head o' her I lo'e.
I've heard the lark's clear sang ere the rosy e'e o' day
Had from our smiling vales brushed the shades o' night away,
But sweeter words fell on mine ear than minstrel's sweetest lay
As I gaed owre the moor yestreen wi' her I lo'e.
Ill build a wee wee house, and I'll tak' my lassie hame,
And I will fill't wi' wealth that the gowd we prize will shame
I'll fill't wi' love's endearing joys, all else is but a name,
Unworthy o' the charms that live in her I lo'e.
