The Minstrel sleeps! and common clay
Claims what is only common now,
His eye hath lost its kindling ray,
And darkness sits upon his brow!
The Minstrel sleeps!—the spell is past,
His spirit its last flight hath taken;
The magic wand is broke at last
Whose touch all things to life could waken!
The Minstrel sleeps!—the glory's fled,
The soul's returned back to the giver,
And all that e'er could die is dead
Of him whose name shall live for ever!
The minstrel sleeps!—and genius mourns
In tears of woe, and sighs of sorrow;
For though each day his song returns,
The Minstrel's voice, it knows no morrow!
The Minstrel sleeps!—and death, oh! thou
Hast laid the mighty with the slain—
The mantle fallen is folded now,
And who may it unfold again?
The Rose of Allandale.
[Words by C. Jefferys. Music composed by S. Nelson.]
The morn was fair, the skies were clear,
No breath came o'er the sea,
When Mary left her Highland cot,
And wander'd forth with me;
Tho' flowers deck'd the mountain's side,
And fragrance fill'd the vale,
By far the sweetest flower there,
Was the Rose of Allandale.
Where'er I wandered, east or west,
Tho' fate began to lour,
A solace still was she to me,
In sorrow's lonely hour.
When tempests lash'd our gallant bark,
And rent her shiv'ring sail,
One maiden form withstood the storm,
'Twas the Rose of Allandale.
And when my fever'd lips were parch'd
On Afric's burning sand,
She whisper'd hopes of happiness,
And tales of distant land:
My life had been a wilderness,
Unbless'd by fortune's gale,
Had fate not link'd my lot to hers
The Rose of Allandale.
Bess the Gawkie.
[The humorous exposition of courtship in pastoral life is the production of the Rev. Dr. James Muirhead, minister of the parish of Urr in Galloway, who died in 1808, at the age of 68. It first appeared in Herd's Collection, in 1776.]
Blythe young Bess to Jean did say,
Will ye gang to yon sunny brae,
Whare flocks do feed, and herds do stray,
And sport awhile wi' Jamie?
Ah, na, lass! I'll no gang there,
Nor about Jamie tak' a care,
Nor about Jamie tak' a care,
For he's ta'en up wi' Maggie.
For hark, and I will tell you, lass,
Did I not see young Jamie pass,
Wi' meikle blytheness in his face,
Out owre the muir to Maggie?
I wat he ga'e her monie a kiss,
And Maggie took them nae amiss:
'Tween ilka smack pleas'd her wi' this,
"That Bess was but a gawkie.
"For when a civil kiss I seek,
She turns her head and thraws her cheek
And for an hour she'll hardly speak:
Wha'd no ca' her a gawkie?
But sure my Maggie has mair sense,
She'll gi'e a score without offence;
Now gi'e me ane into the mense,
And ye shall be my dawtie."
'O Jamie, ye ha'e monie ta'en,
But I will never stand for ane
Or twa when we do meet again,
So ne'er think me a gawkie.'
"Ah, na, lass, that canna be;
Sic thoughts as thae are far frae me,
Or onie thy sweet face that see,
E'er to think thee a gawkie."
