Page:The American fugitive in Europe.djvu/260

252 'How sweetly bloomed the fray green birk,

How rich the hawthorn's blossom,

As underneath their fragrant shade

I clasped her to my bosom!

The golden hours, on angel wings,

Flew o'er me and my dearie:

For dear to me as light and life

Was my sweet Highland Mary.

"Wi'mony a vow, and looked embrace,

Our parting was fu' tender;

And, pledging aft to meet again,

We tore oursels asunder;

But, O! fell Death's untimely frost,

That nipt my flower sae early!

Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,

That wraps my Highland Mary!

"O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,

I aft hae kissed sae fondly!

And closed for aye the sparkling glance

That dwalt on me sae kindly!

And mouldering now in silent dust

That heart that lo'ed me dearly!

But still within my bosom's core

Shall live my Highland Mary."

It was indeed pleasant to walk over the ground once pressed by the feet of the Scottish bard, and to look upon the scenes that inspired his youthful breast, and gave animation to that blaze of genius that burst upon the world. The classic Doon, the ruins of the old kirk Alloway, the cottage in which the poet first drew breath, and other places made celebrated by his pen, all filled us with a degree of enthusiasm we have seldom experienced.