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Rest, rest, on mother's breast,
Father will come to thee soon,
Silver sails all out of the west
Under the silver moon:
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.
YE winds that sweep the grove's green tops And kiss the mountains hoar,
O softly stir the ocean-waves
O bend his masts with pleasant gales,
O leave nae mair the bonny glen,
And sighed and looked of love;
For faithless is the ocean wave,
And faithless is the wind:
Then leave nae mair my heart to break
Он, why does my lover linger,
Why waits he among the corals,
My rose-woven wreath is fallen,
Their silver white is gone.
Yet in bowers under the blue waves,
Oh, fairer than our palm-groves
Yet far, far over the ocean
Left he his mother dear,
And over the wide, wide ocean
Then dearer than his youth's bowers
JAMES W. MILLER.
I WOULD take thee home to my heart, but thou wilt not
come to me:
Ah! lonely art thou sailing far out on the stormy sea; And lonely am I sitting with the cold dark rocks around ; Weary the sight of heaving waves, weary their thundering sound.
ANNIE OF LOCHROYAN.
'O WHA will shoe my bonny foot?
'O wha will kame my yellow hair
Thy father will shoe thy bonny foot, Thy mother will glove thy hand, Thy sister will lace thy middle jimp Wi' a lang lang linen band.
'Thy brother will kame thy yellow hair,
'But I will get a bonny boat,
Syne she's gar'd build a bonny boat
The sails were o' the gude green silk,
She hadna sailed but twenty leagues,
'Now whether are ye the queen hersell, (For so ye well might be,) Or are ye the lass o' Lochroyan, Seekin' Lord Gregory?'
'O I am not the queen,' she said, Nor sic I seem to be,
'But I am Annie of Lochroyan Seekin' Lord Gregory.'
'O see ye na yon stately tower, That's covered o'er wi' tin;
When thou hast sailed it round about,