Page:Wreath of song, or, Favourite airs for the lovers of music.pdf/14

 14 The craw-Howy blue, and meadow-pink, I wovo in primrose braided link, But little, little did I think I should have wove the willow. My bonnie lad was fore'd afar, Toss'd on the raging billow, Perhaps he's fa’n in bloody war, Or wreck'd on rocky shallow ; Yet, aye I hope for his return, As round our wonted haunts I mourn, And often by the woodland burn I pu' the weeping willow.

THE GIRL WE LOVE. To the travoller benighted and lone on the wild, O sweet is the prospect of shelter and rost; And dear to the mother's fond heart is her child, When she feels his young breath glowing warm on her breast. To the prisoner reliev'd from dungeon deep, "Tis sweet o'er the heather-clad kills to rove ; But tlic spirit with livelier bound doth leap, To meet in the gloamin' the girl we love. To wander at o'en through the meadows so green, With raptur'd emotion my bosom has beat; But what gave enchantment and life to the scene? What maeo it so lovely, fair, and sweet? 'Twas that Jessie was there, with her mild witching smile. And the life-giving glance of her dark hazel eye ; Twas this tun'd to music the murin'ring rill, And brighton'd each star that gem'd the sky.