The Book of Scottish Song/How sweet this lone vale

How sweet this lone vale.

[The first stanza of this song was written by the Hon. Andrew Erskine, a younger brother of "the musical Earl of Kellie." The other verses are by an unknown hand. Mr. Erskine held a lieutenant's commission in the 71st regiment, but most of his life was spent in Edinburgh, where he figured as a retired bachelor of somewhat eccentric habits. He carried on a literary correspondence with James Boswell, in prose and verse, which was published at London in 1763. He was also author of "Town Eclogues," and other pieces. Burns was acquainted with him. In a letter to George Thomson, 7th June, 1793, the poet says, "Mr. Erskine's songs are all pretty, but his 'Lone Vale' is divine." In September of the same year, Mr. Erskine was found drowned in the Forth. An unlucky run at play is said to have led to this melancholy end.]

How sweet this lone vale, and how sacred to feeling
Yon nightingale's notes in sweet melody melt;
Oblivion of woe o'er the mind gently stealing,
A pause from keen anguish a moment is felt.
The moon's yellow light o'er the still lake is sleeping,
Ah! near the sad spot Mary sleeps in her tomb,
Again the heart swells, the eye flows with weeping,
And the sweets of the vale are o'ershadow'd with gloom.

How sweet this lone vale, all the beauties of nature,
In varied features are here to be seen,
The lowly spread bush, and oaks' tow'ring stature,
Is mantled in foliage of gay lovely green.
Ah! here is the spot, O how sad recollection,
It is the retreat of my Mary no more,
How kind, how sincere was this dear maid's affection,
Till memory cease, I the loss must deplore.

How sweet this lone vale to a heart full of sorrow,
The wail of distress I unheeded can pour,
My bosom o'ercharg'd may be lighter to-morrow,
By shedding a flood in yon thick-twisted bower.
O Mary! in silence thou calmly reposes,
The bustle of life gives no trouble to thee,
Bemoaning my Mary, life only discloses
A wilderness vacant of pleasure to me.

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