Quite politely/The maid of Ilay

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THE MAID OF ILAY.

Rising o'er the heaving billow,
Evening gilds the ocean's swell.
While with thee on grassy pillow,
Solitude I love to dwell.
Lonely to the sea breeze blowing,
Oft I chant my love lorn strain,
To the streamlet sweetly flowing,
Murmur oft a lover's pain.

'Twas for her, the maid of Ilay
Time flew o'er the wind with joy;
'Twas for her the cheering smile ay
Beam'd with rapture in my eye.
Not the tempest raving round me,
Lightning's flash or thunder's roll;
Not the ocean's rage could wound me,
While her image fil'd my soul.

Farewell days of purest pleasure,
Long your loss my heart shall mourn
Farewell hours of bliss, the measure.
Bliss that never can return!
Cheerless o'er the wild heath wandering;
Cheerless o'er the wave-worn shore;
On the past with sadness pond'ring,
Hope's fair vision charm no more!