When the distant beacon's revolving light
Bids my lone steps seek the shore,
There the rush of the flow-tide's rippling wave
Meets the dash of the fisher's oar;
And the dim-seen steam-boat's hollow sound,
As she sea-ward tracks her way;
All else are asleep in the still calm night,
And robed in the misty grey.
When the glow-worm lits her elfin lamp,
And the night breeze sweeps the hill;
It's sweet, on thy rock-bound shores, Dunoon,
To wander at fency's will.
Eliza! with thee, in this solitude,
Life's cares would pass away,
Like the fleecy clouds over grey Kilmun,
At the wake of early day.
I ance knew content.
[Thomas Lyle.]
I ance knew content, but its smiles are awa',
The broom blooms bonnie, an' grows sae fair;
Each tried friend forsakes me, sweet Phebe an' a',
So I ne'er will gae down to the broom ony mair.
How light was my step, and my heart, O how gay!
The broom blooms bonnie, the broom blooms fair;
Till Phebe was crown'd our queen of the May,
When the bloom o' the broom strew'd its sweets on the air.
She was mine when the snaw-draps hung white on the lea,
Ere the broom bloom'd bonnie, an' grew sae fair;
Till May-day, anither wysed Phebe frae me.
So I ne'er will gae down to the broom ony mair.
Sing, Love, thy fond promises melt like the snaw,
When broom waves lonely, an' bleak blaws the air;
For Phebe to me now is naething ava,
If my heart could say, "Gang to the broom nae mair."
Durst I trow that thy dreams in the night hover o'er,
Where broom blooms bonnie, and grows sae feir;
The swain (who, while waking, thou thinks of no more,)
Whisp'ring, "Love, will ye gang to the broom ony mair?"
No! Fare thee well, Phebe; I'm owre wae to weep,
Or to think o' the broom growing bonnie an' fair;
Since thy heart is anither's, in death I maun sleep,
'Neath the broom on the lea, an' the bawm sunny air.
On the Death of Burns.
[Richard Gall.—Tune, "O, wat ye wha's in yon toun."]
There's waefu' news in yon town,
As e'er the warld heard ava;
There's dolefu' news in yon town,
For Robbie's gane an' left them a'.
How blythe it was to see his face
Come keeking by the hallan wa'!
He ne'er was sweir to say the grace,
But now he's gane an' left them a'.
He was the lad wha made them glad,
Whanever he the reed did blaw:
The lasses there may drap a tear,
Their funny friend is now awa'.
Nae daffin now in yon town;
The browster-wife gets leave to draw
An' drink hersel', in yon town,
Sin' Robbie gaed an' left them a'.
The lawin's canny counted now,
The bell that tinkled ne'er will draw,
The king will never get his due,
Sin' Robbie gaed and left them a'.
The squads o' chiels that lo'ed a splore
On winter e'enings, never ca;
Their blythesome moments a' are o'er,
Sin' Robbie's gane an' left them a'.
Frae a' the een in yon town
I see the tears o' sorrow fa',
An' weel they may, in yon town,
Nae canty sang they hear ava.
Their e'ening sky begins to lour,
The murky clouds thegither draw;
'Twas but a blink afore a shower,
Ere Robbie gaed and left them a'.
