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WAKE dearest, wake! and again united, We'll rove by yonder sea;
And where our first vows of love were
Our last farewell shall be;
There oft I've gaz'd on thy smiles delighted,
And there I'll part from thee. There oft I've gaz'd on thy smiles delighted,
And there I'll part from thee.
One look, though that look is in sorrow; Fare thee well! fare thee well. fare thee well!
Far hence I shall wander to-morrow.
Dark is my doom, and from thee I sever, Whom I have lov'd alone;
'Twere cruel to link thy fate for ever With sorrows like my own;
Go smile on livelier friends, and never Lament me when I'm gone,
Go smile on livelier friends, and never Lament me when I'm gone.
Isabel, Isabel, &c.
And when at length in these lovely bowers,
Some happier youth you see; And you cull for him spring's sweetest flowers,
And he sings of love to thee; When you laugh with him at these vanish'd hours,
Oh, tell him to love like me.
METAMORA'S DEATH SONG.
TUNE-The days when we went Gipsying
In the days when Philip's fathers lived, A long time ago,
Brave warriors roam'd the hunting grounds,
With arrow spear and bow,
They led the chase from morn till night,
Through vale and forest green, And then no haughty pale faces, Upon their lands were seen;
But now they come to drive us back, Metamora will not go,
He'll die where his brave fathers lived, A long time ago.
Then warriors free by rock and tree,
Metamora will not go,
He'll die where his brave fathers died, A long time ago.
AWAY! MY GALLANT PAGE, AWAY!
AWAY! my gallant page, away!
Then gallop away, my young and
The welcome call obey,
And merrily speed thy eager steed,
Away, and meet my warrior love!
YE banks and braes and streams around, The castle of Montgomery;
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,
Your waters never drumlie, There simmer first unfaulds her robes, And there they longest tarry; For there I took the last farewell, O' my sweet Highland Mary.
How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade, I clasped her to my bosom ! The golden hours on angel's wings, Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me as light and life, Was my sweet Highland Mary.
Wi' monie a vow and locked embrace,
That wraps my Highland Mary.
O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,
I've los'd for aye the sparkling glance,