THE GREEN BOWERS OF BARGENY. HUGH AINSLIE. I left ye, Jeanie, blooming fair buskit like a queen, In painted chambers sitting. I left ye like a wanton lamb That plays 'mang Haydart heather; Ye're wiser, nae doubt, Jeanie ; But Oh! I'd rather met wi' thee 'Mang the green bowers of Bargeny. THE BROKEN HEART OF ANNIE. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. Down yon green glen, in yon wee bower, Had privily been calling, When she grew faint, and sick of heart, I found her as a lily flower, When dew hangs in its blossom, Hung smiling at her bosom. Such throbs ran through her frame, as seem'd Her heart and soul to sever; In no one's face she look'd-her bloom Was fading-and for ever. Thou hast thy father's smile, my babe, A voice that made his falsest vows And get, from hearts which he had broke, My false love came to me yestreen, And kiss'd his babe, and said, Sweet wean, And out he pull'd a purse of gold, It's not thy gold and silver bright, And caps all laced an' bonnie, Can bring me back the peace Or heal the heart of Annie; I've tint, Speak to thy God of thy broken vows, For thou hast broken many. A WEARY LOT IS THINE. SIR WALTER SCOTT. A weary lot is thine, fair maid, To pull the thorn, thy brow to braid, A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green, No more of me you knew, My love! No more of me you knew. This morn is merry June, I trow ; The rose is budding fain; But it shall bloom in winter snow Ere we two meet again. He turned his charger as he spake, Upon the river shore; WAKEN, LORDS AND LADIES GAY. SIR WALTER SCOTT. Waken, lords and ladies gay, On the mountain dawns the day; All the jolly chase is here, With hawk and horse and hunting spear. Waken, lords and ladies gay! Waken, lords and ladies gay, The mist has left the mountain gray; Waken, lords and ladies gay, We can show the marks he made When 'gainst the oak his antlers frayed; VOL. IV. |