THE DAY RETURNS, MY BOSOM BURNS. HE day returns, my bosom burns, The blissful day we twa did meet; And crosses o'er the sultry Line; Than kingly robes, than crowns. and globes, While day and night can bring delight, When that grim foe of life below BURNS. HIGHLAND MÁRY. E banks and braes and streams around Green be your woods and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie. There Simmer first unfald her robes, How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk, Was my sweet Highland Mary. Highland Mary. Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace, Our parting was fu' tender; And pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursels asunder; But oh! fell death's untimely frost, Now green's the sod and cauld's the clay Oh pale, pale now, those rosy lips BURNS. 121 HE grass is wet with shining dews, 'Tis early prime; And hark, hark, hark, His merry chime Chirrups the lark. Chirrup, chirrup! he heralds in The jolly sun with matin hymn. Come, come, my love, and May-dews shake In pailfuls from each drooping bough, They'll give fresh lustre to the bloom That breaks upon thy young cheek now. May-Morn Song. O'er hill and dale, o'er waste and wood, Aurora's smiles are streaming free; For mark, love, mark, How, bathed in light, Chirrup, chirrup! he upward flies, They lack all heart who cannot feel The voice of heaven within them thrill Where brightest wildflowers choose to be, No witness there; And o'er us, hark, High in the air Chirrups the lark. Chirrup, chirrup! away soars he, Bearing to heaven my vows to thee. 123 MOTHERWELL. |