Page:Ayrshire melodist, or, The muses' delight.pdf/13



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When of hope, the last spark which thy smile lov’d to cherish, In my bosom shall die, and it’s splendour be o‘er; And the pulse of that heart which adores you shall perish, Oh! then dearest Ellen, I‘I1 love you no                         more.

—o —

Despairing Mary,

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MARY, why thus waste thy youth-time in                         sorrow; See a’ around you the flowers sweetly blaw, Blithe sets the sun o’er the wild cliffs o’                         Jura, Blithe sings the mavis in ilka green shaw. How can this heart ever mair think of plea- sure, Simmer may smile, but delight I hae nane, Cauld in the grave lies my heart’s only trea- sure Nature seems dead since my Jamie is                         gane.