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He spak' o' the days, lang past an' gane, When life beat high in every vein; When he was foremost on the plain

On every blythsome day.

" Then blythly blush'd the mornin' dawn,

An' gay the gloamin' fell ;
For sweet content led ay the van,

An' sooth'd the passions well;
Till wounded by a gilded dart,
When Jeanie's een subdued my heart,
I cherish'd ay the pleasing smart, -

Mair sweet than I can tell.

“We had our griefs, we had our joys,

In life's uneasy way ;
We nourish'd virtuous girls an' boys,

That now are far away :
An' she, my best, my dearest part,
The sharer o' each joy an' smart,
Each wish and weakness o' my heart,

Lies moulderin' in the clay.

"The life o' man's a winter day:

Look back, 'tis gone as soon: But yet his pleasures halve the way

An' fly before 'tis noon, But conscious virtue still maintains The honest heart through toils an' pains,

An' hope o' better days remains,

An' hauds the heart aboon."


The dawning was mild, and the hamlet was wild,

For it stood by an untrodded shore of the main, When Duncan was rais'd from his slumber,

amaz'd, By a voice at his door, that did shortly com

plain“Rise, Duncan, I perish !” his bosom was fir'd

With feelings no language or pen can convey:
'Twas a voice he had heard, and with rapture ad.

Ere fatal Culloden had forc'd him away.

He flew to the rock that o'ershadow'd his cot,
And wistfully look'd where his vision could

reach ;
He shouted—but only the echoes about
Him answer'd, and billows that rush'd on the

beach. For the winds were at rest, but the ocean, opprest, Still heav'd like an earthquake, and broke on

the shore ;


The mist settled high on the mountains of Skye,

And the wild howling storm ruffled nature no


He search'd every glen, every creek, every isle,

Although every sense was with reason at strife; When the sun blinked red o'er the hills of Argyll,

He found his Matilda, his lady, his wife ! Resign'd to her fate, on a little green plat,

Where a cliff intercepted the wanderer's way, On her bosom so fair, and her fine yellow hair,

The frost of the morning lay crisped and gray.

He wept like a child, while beside her he kneel'd, And cried, “0, kind Father, look down on my

woe! 0, spare my sweet wife, and the whole of my life, My heart, for the gift, shall with gratitude

glow !" By care and attention she slowly recovers, And found herself lock'd in her husband's em.

brace. But, reader, if ever thou hast been a lover,

Thy heart will outgo me, and furnish this space.

She said she had heard of his quiet retreat,
And had come from the vale ere the tempest

had low'r'd;

That the snow and the sleet had benumb'd her

weak feet, And with hunger and cold she was quite over•

power’d. For her way she had lost, and the torrents she

cross'd Had often nigh borne her away to the main ; But the night coming on, she had laid herself

down, And prayed to her Maker, nor prayed she in


“But did not you call at my cottage so early, When morning's gray streamers scarce crested

the fell ? A voice then did name me, and waken’d me fairly,

And bade me arise, and the voice I knew well." “ Than where I was found, I was never more nigh

thee: I sunk, overcome by toil, famine, and grief ; Some pitying angel, then hovering by me,

Has taken my voice to afford me relief.”

Then down they both bow'd, and most solemnly

vow'd To their great Benefactor his goodness to mind, Both evening and morning unto them returning ; And well they perform’d the engagement we

They both now are cold; but the tale they have

told, To many,

while gratitude's tears fell in store; And whenever I pass by the bonny Glenasby,

I mind the adventure on Morven's lone shore.


Tune-Lord Elcho's Delight.

Cauld is the blast on the braes of Strahonan,

The top of Ben-Wevis is driftin' wi' snaw! The child i' my bosom is shiverin' an' moanin';

Oh! pity a wretch that has naething ava. My feet they are bare, and my cleathin is duddy, Yes, look

traveller; ance I was gay; I hae twa little babies, baith healthy and ruddy But want will waste them and their mother


We late were as blythe as the bird on the Beauly, When the woodland is green, an' the flower on

the lee : But now he's ta'en frae us for ay, wha was truly

A father to them, and a husband to me. My Duncan supplied me, though far away lyin'

Wi' heroes, the glory and pride of our isle ;

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