"Oh! thou all evil lust of gold,

What souls to sin hast thou consign'dHow many a heart hast thou made coldHow many a true love knot untwin'd!

"Yes, many a lover's perjury

Hath left the hapless maid to scorn, But could she e'er have lov'd like meCan any be like me, forlorn?

"In arms my gallant father died
In battle, for his rightful king;
usurper seiz'd his manors wide,
And left us scarce a covering.

Th'

66

'My broken-hearted mother fell
Death-stricken at our castle gate,

And I was left, of all bereft,
An orphan girl most desolate!

"Oh! was it then, thou falsest love,

When thus with bitter grief opprest, Thou should'st the only hope remove Which linger'd yet within my breast?

"Oh! was it well, my William dear, Falsest, yet dearest still to me!

The only tie away to tear,

Which bound my heart to earth and thee?

"I never stain'd my Father's graveThe grave of honour-with a tear; Few were the bitter drops I gave,

To deck my Mother's timely bier.

"He died as gallant men should die,
Battling with tyrants to be free;
She 'scaped the heart-corroding sigh,
And many a foul indignity.

66 Wealth, rank, the friends who false did prove, Without a pang I saw depart;

My dearest title was thy love-
My only treasure was thy heart.

"Oh God! who all my woes hast seen,
Thou know'st how dearer far to me
The shroud and silent grave had been,
Had I not known his perfidy.

"I would have given my latest breath, William!-to keep one pang from you;

I could have died a happy death,

Even now, had'st thou to me been true.

"It is not that I selfish mourn

The bliss with thee I hop'd to share— 'Tis not that I am left to scorn,

Thus deep o'erwhelms me in despair.

'Tis that my heart, too highly strung, Too keenly felt, too deeply lov'd— Now by thy hand so rudely wrung, Can ne'er again to bliss be mov'd.

"'Tis that I ne'er on earth again
True love or honor hope to see;

If falsehood could thy bosom stain,
What heart from falsehood can be free?

"'Tis that I cannot, will not tear

Thy cherish'd memory from my breast; Vain hope! all Nature seems to wear

Thy form where'er I rove or rest:

Thy image lur'd me here to-night,

Then vanish'd o'er the sullen main :

Hope, shrieking, join'd the phantom's flight, And madness clutch'd my tortur'd brain.

"What is the fate of wretched maid,
Who mourns a lover's broken faith?
Grief, torture, tears, through coming years,
Or kind oblivion sought in death.

"Ye stars that glide along the sky!
Thou moon in pity meekly pale!

Ye scenes of love and infancy!
Receive in tears my last farewell.

P

"Welcome, thou dark unfathom'd deep!
Forgetfulness if thou can'st bring,

Full sound and sweet will be my sleep,
Beneath thy green waves' murmuring.

"Hide in some deep sepulchral cave,
My fate and form from human eye,
Lest William, wandering by thy wave,
Might see, and mourn his perfidy!"

She ceas'd;-then sprang into the wave,
Where, eddying deep, the waters whirl;
A shroud of spray the waters gave,
To wrap the hapless orphan girl.

Once her white arm on high appear'd,

Once William's name she breath'd again, Then slowly sunk, and nought was heard

Save the wild winds and murmuring main.

THE HIGHLAND LAD,

AND THE

LOWLAND LOUN.

I.

Down by the pass o' Ballochmyle,
Ae simmer morning early,

Cam through a braw young Highlander,
Wi' bonnet cockit rarely:

His dirk stuck by his belted side,

And gude claymore hung ready,

As he cam till a Lawland loun
Misusin' o' a leddy.

II.

Young Donald Bean was ne'er the lad
To crouch beneath oppression;
And maist to see a woman's grief,

It was his detestation:

Sae drawing forth his blade, he cried,
Wi' voice like gathering storm,
"Ta Lawlant loun maun fecht or flee,

For Donald Bean's before him."