Lord Gregory tore his yellow hair,
And made a heavy moan;

Fair Annie's corpse lay at his feet,

Her bonny young son was gone.

O cherry, cherry was her cheek,
And gowden was her hair;
But clay-cold were her rosy lips-
Nae spark o' life was there.

And first he kissed her cherry cheek,
And syne he kissed her chin,
And syne he kissed her rosy lips-
There was nae breath within.

"O wae betide my cruel mother!
An ill death may she die!

She turned my true love frae my door,
Wha came sae far to me.

"O wae betide my cruel mother,

An ill death may she die!

She turned fair Annie frae my door,

Wha died for love o' me.'

UNKNOWN.

ROMANCE OF LOVE

The faery power

Of unreflecting love.

KEATS.

XXXI

LOVE

ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,

All are but ministers of Love,
And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I
Live o'er again that happy hour,
When midway on the mount I lay,
Beside the ruin'd tower.

The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve!

She lean'd against the armed man,
The statue of the armed knight;
She stood and listen'd to my lay,
Amid the lingering light.

Few sorrows hath she of her own,
My hope! my joy! my Genevieve !
She loves me best, whene'er I sing

The songs that made her grieve.