'T IS SAIR TO DREAM

"T IS sair to dream o' them we like,
That waking we sall never see;
Yet, oh! how kindly was the smile
My laddie in my sleep gave me !
I thought we sat beside the burn
That wimples down the flowery glen,
Where, in our early days o' love,

We met that ne'er sall meet again!

The simmer sun sank 'neath the wave,
And gladden'd, wi' his parting ray,
The woodland wild and valley green,
Fast fading into gloamin' grey.
He talk'd of days o' future joy,

And yet my heart was haflins sair,
For when his eye it beam'd on me,

A withering death-like glance was there!

I thought him dead, and then I thought
That life was young and love was free,
For o'er our heads the mavis sang,
And hameward hied the janty bee!

We pledged our love and plighted troth, But cauld, cauld was the kiss he gave, When starting from my dream, I found His troth was plighted to the grave!

I canna weep, for hope is fled,

And nought would do but silent mourn, Were 't no for dreams that should na come, To whisper back my love's return; 'Tis sair to dream o' them we like,

That waking we sall never see; Yet, oh! how kindly was the smile My laddie in my sleep gave me !

THE EXILE'S SONG

OH! why left I my hame ?
Why did I cross the deep?
Oh! why left I the land

Where my forefathers sleep?
I sigh for Scotia's shore,
And I gaze across the sea,
But I canna get a blink
O' my ain countrie.

The palm-tree waveth high, And fair the myrtle springs; And, to the Indian maid,

The bulbul sweetly sings. But I dinna see the broom Wi' its tassels on the lee, Nor hear the lintie's sang O' my ain countrie.

Oh! here no Sabbath bell

Awakes the Sabbath morn, Nor song of reapers heard Amang the yellow corn:

For the tyrant's voice is here, And the wail of slaverie; But the sun of freedom shines In my ain countrie.

There's a hope for every woe,
And a balm for every pain,
But the first joys o' our heart
Come never back again.
There's a track upon the deep,
And a path across the sea;
But the weary ne'er return
To their ain countrie.

CASA'S DIRGE

VAINLY for us the sunbeams shine,
Dimm'd is our joyous hearth;

O Casa, dearer dust than thine

Ne'er mix'd with mother earth! Thou wert the corner-stone of love, The keystone of our fate;

Thou art not! Heaven scowls dark above, And earth is desolate.

Ocean may rave with billows curl'd,

And moons may wax and wane,

And fresh flowers blossom; but this world
Shall claim not thee again.

Clos'd are the eyes which bade rejoice
Our hearts till love ran o'er;

Thy smile is vanish'd, and thy voice
Silent for evermore.

Yes; thou art gone our hearth's delight,

Our boy so fond and dear;

No more thy smiles to glad our sight,
No more thy songs to cheer;
No more thy presence, like the sun,
To fill our home with joy :
Like lightning hath thy race been run,
As bright as swift, fair boy.

Now winter with its snow departs,

The green leaves clothe the tree; But summer smiles not on the hearts

That bleed and break for thee: The young May weaves her flowery crown, Her boughs in beauty wave; They only shake their blossoms down Upon thy silent grave.

THE SWALLOW

THE swallow, bonny birdie, comes sharp twittering o'er the sea,

And gladly is her carol heard for the sunny days to be;

She shares not with us wintry glooms, but

yet, no faithless thing,

She hunts the summer o'er the earth with wearied little wing.

The lambs like snow all nibbling go upon the ferny hills;

Light winds are in the leafy woods, and

birds, and bubbling rills;

Then welcome, little swallow, by our morning lattice heard,

Because thou com'st when Nature bids bright days be thy reward!

Thine be sweet mornings with the bee that's out for honey-dew;

And glowing be the noontide for the grasshopper and you;

And mellow shine, o'er day's decline, the sun to light thee home :

What can molest thy airy nest? sleep till the day-spring come!

The river blue that rushes through the valley hears thee sing,

And murmurs much beneath the touch of thy light-dipping wing. The thunder-cloud, over us bowed, in deeper gloom is seen, When quick reliev'd it glances to thy bosom's silvery sheen.

The silent Power, that brought thee back with leading-strings of love

To haunts where first the summer sun fell on thee from above,

Shall bind thee more to come aye to the music of our leaves,

For here thy young, where thou hast sprung, shall glad thee in our eaves.

Then saddle an' munt again, harness an' dunt again,

An' when ye gae hunt again, strike higher game.

Hoot, whisht ye, my dame, for he comes o' gude kin,

An' boasts o' a lang pedigree;

This night he maun share o' our gude cheer within,

At morning's grey dawn he maun dee. He's gallant Wat Scott, heir o' proud Harden Ha',

Wha ettled our lands clear to sweep; But now he is snug in auld Elibank's paw, An' shall swing frae our donjon-keep. Tho' saddle an' munt again, harness an' dunt again,

I'll ne'er when I hunt again strike higher game."

Wat ne'er shall hunt again, ne'er see his hame.

Syne muckle-mou'd Meg press'd in close to his side,

An' blinkit fu' sleely and kind,

But aye as Wat glower'd at his braw proffer'd bride,

He shook like a leaf in the wind. "A bride or a gallows, a rope or a wife!" The morning dawn'd sunny and clear Wat boldly strode forward to part wi' his life,

Till he saw Meggy shedding a tear; Then saddle an' munt again, harness an' dunt again,

Fain wad Wat hunt again, fain wad be hame.

Meg's tear touch'd his bosom, the gibbet frown'd high,

An' slowly Wat strode to his doom; He gae a glance round wi' a tear in his

And I will show you what rare bath a good God gave to me;

'Tis hid among the Highland hills beneath the purple brae,

With cooling freshness free to all, nor doctor's fee to pay.

No craft of mason made it here, nor carpenter, I wot;

Nor tinkering fool with hammering tool to shape the charmed spot; But down the rocky-breasted glen the foamy torrent falls

Into the amber caldron deep, fenced round with granite walls.