Page:Wreath of song, or, Favourite airs for the lovers of music.pdf/13

 13 This-this was the lay of the Jewish maid, Though not in her father's bowers, Sweetly she sung-while in sadness she stray'd Near the ruins of Babylon's towers. No more, &c Where are the sons of mind ancient race? That were born but the javelin to bear Land of my kindred, whose ruins I trace That once was so lovely and fair. The green grass grows on the fertile spot, Where once grew the sweetest of flowers; Land of my kindred shall never be forgot, While a ruin remains of thy towers. no more, &c.

LANGSYNE BESIDE THE WOODLAND BURN Langsyne beside the woodland burn, Amang the broom sae yellow, I lean'd mo 'neath the milk-white thorn, On nature's mossy pillow : Around my seat the flow'rs were strew'd, That frae the wild-wood I had pu'd, To weave mysel' a summer snood, To pleasure my dear fellow. I twin'd the woodbine round the rose, Its richer hues to mellow; Green sprigs of fragrant birk I chose, To busk the sedge sae yellow.