Page:Scottish glory.pdf/8

 It was down in the vale, where the sweet Torza gliding,

Its murmuring stream ripples through the dark grove,

I own'd what I felt, all my passion confiding,

To ease the fond sighs of the lad that I love.

Then I'll weave, &c.

night when the bell had toll’d twelve,

And poor Susan was laid on her pillow,

In her ear whisper’d some fleeting elve—

Your love now lies tost on a billow,

Far, far at sea.

All was dark, when she woke out of breath,

Not an object her fears could discover;

All was still as the silence of death,

Save Fancy, which painted her lover,

Far, far at sea.

So she whisper'd a prayer-clos'd her eyes,

But the phantom still haunted her pillow,

While in terror she echo'd his cries,

As struggling he sank in a billow,

Far, far at sea.