O maid, the moon shines lovely down,
The stars all brightly burn,
And they may shine till doomsday comes,
Ere your true love return;
O'er his white forehead roll the waves,
The wind sighs lowne and low,
And the cry the sea-fowl uttereth
Is one of wail and woe;
So wail they on-I tell thee, maid,
One of thy tresses dark
Is worth all the souls who perish'd
In that good and gallant bark.
O mariner, O mariner,
It's whisper'd in the hall,
sung upon the mountain side
Among our maidens all,
That the waves which fill the measure
Of that wide and fatal flood
Cannot cleanse the decks of thy good ship,
Or wash thy hands from blood; And sailors meet, and shake their heads, And, ere they sunder, say, God keep us from Miles Colvine, On the wide and watery way!
And up then spoke he, Miles Colvine,
His thigh thus smiting soon,
By all that's dark aneath the deep,
By all that's bright aboon,
By all that's blessed on the earth,
Or blessed on the flood,
And by my sharp and stalwart blade
That revel'd in their blood,
I could not spare them; for there came
My loved one's spirit nigh,
With a shriek of joy at every stroke
That doom'd her foes to die.
O mariner, O mariner,
There was a lovely dame
Went down with thee unto the deep,
And left her father's hame.-
His dark eyes, like a thunder cloud,
Did rain and lighten fast,
And, oh! his bold and martial face
All grimly grew and ghast:
I loved her, and those evil men
Wrong'd her as far we ranged;
But were ever woman's woes and wrongs More fearfully avenged?
Now smiling summer's balmy breeze,
Soft whispering, fans the leafy trees:
The linnet greets the rosy morn,
Sweet in yon fragrant flowery thorn;
The bee hums round the woodbine bower,
Collecting sweets from every flower;
And pure the crystal streamlets run
Amongst the braes of Ballahun.
O blissful days, for ever fled,
When wand'ring wild as Fancy led,
I ranged the bushy bosom'd glen,
The scroggie shaw, the rugged linn,
And mark'd each blooming hawthorn bush,
Where nestling sat the speckled thrush ;
Or careless roaming, wandered on,
Amongst the braes of Ballahun.
Why starts the tear, why bursts the sigh, When hills and dales rebound with joy? The flowery glen and lilied lea
In vain display their charms to me.
I joyless roam the heathy waste,
To soothe this sad, this troubled breast;
And seek the haunts of men to shun
Amongst the braes of Ballahun.
The virgin blush of lovely youth,
The angel smile of artless truth,
This breast illum'd with heavenly joy,
Which lyart time can ne'er destroy:
O Julia dear!—the parting look,
The sad farewell we sorrowing took,
Still haunt me as I stray alone
Among the braes of Ballahun.
Say, sweet carol! who are they
Who cheerly greet the rising day!
Little birds in leafy bower;
Swallows twitt'ring on the tower ;
Larks upon the light air borne ;
Hunters rous'd with shrilly horn;
The woodman whistling on his way;
The new-wak'd child at early play,
Who barefoot prints the dewy green,
Winking to the sunny sheen;
And the meek maid who binds her yellow hair,
And blithely doth her daily task prepare.
Say, sweet carol? who are they
Who welcome in the evening gray?
The housewife trim, and merry
Who sit the blazing fire about;
The sage a conning o'er his book;
The tired wight in rushy nook,
Who, half asleep, but faintly hears
The gossip's tale hum in his ears;
The loosen'd steed in
The hunters feasting in the hall;
But most of all the maid of cheerful soul
Who fills her peaceful warrior's flowing bowl.
Our bugles sung truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd,
And the centinel stars set the watch in the sky,
And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd,
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die;
When reposing that night on my pallet of straw,
By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain,
In the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,
And twice ere the cock crew I dreamt it again.
Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array,
Far, far had I roam'd on a desolate track,
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