Page:Seven Scotch songs.pdf/6



Sequester’d here, afar from fame,

And hope’s enchanting smile,

I spend in wo, life ebbing slow,

On this remote, secluded isle.

Where all I spy is sea or sky

Round this horrific steep,

And nought I hear but howlings drear,

From off the foaming deep.

O lovely Seine, thy banks so green,

Alas! no more I’ll tread,

No happy morn, to me forlorn,

Can bring the happy scenes now fled.

Thy glades and groves where pleasures rove,

I bade a last adieu,

When fortune’s star, my doom, by war,

Resolv’d at Waterloo.

No pleasure brings the blazing sun,

Tho’ in the glow of day,

Nor solemn night, star-spangl’d bright,

Can drive my exile-grief away.

Contention’s fate I've seen too late,

And grandeur’s luring glare,

So here my doom is endless gloom,

With sullen, grim despair.

No more again on hill or plain

To me shall ranks appear;

Nor blazing steel e’er more shall reel,

In charge of bayonet or spear.