LOCHABER NO MORE. FAREWELL to Lochaber! and farewell, my Jean, Though hurricanes rise, and rise every wind, They'll ne'er make a tempest like that in my mind; Though loudest of thunder on louder waves roar, That's naething like leaving my love on the shore, To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pained ; By ease that's inglorious no fame can be gained; And beauty and love's the reward of the brave, And I must deserve it before I can crave. Then glory, my Jeany, maun plead my excuse; I gae then, my lass, to win honor and fame, ALLAN RAMSAY. AS SLOW OUR SHIP. As slow our ship her foamy track Against the wind was cleaving, Her trembling pennant still looked back To that dear isle 't was leaving. So loath we part from all we love, From all the links that bind us; So turn our hearts, as on we rove, To those we've left behind us! When, round the bowl, of vanished years Each early tie that twined us, TO HIS UNKIND MISTRESS NOT TO FORSAKE HIM. AND wilt thou leave me thus ? And wilt thou leave me thus ? Say nay! say nay! And wilt thou leave me thus, Say nay say nay! And wilt thou leave me thus, Say say say nay! And wilt thou leave me thus, And wilt thou leave me thus ? SIR THOMAS WYATT. But those lips that echoed the sounds of mine And now on the midnight sky I look, Some tale of that loved one keeping. JULIA CRAWFORD. FAREWELL! BUT WHENEVER. FAREWELL!- but whenever you welcome the hour That awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower, Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too, And forgot his own griefs, to be happy with you. His griefs may return not a hope may remain Of the few that have brightened his pathway of pain But he ne'er can forget the short vision that threw Its enchantment around him while lingering with you! And still on that evening when Pleasure fills up To the high st top sparkle each heart and each cup, Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright, My soul, happy friends! will be with you that night; Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles, And return to me, beaming all o'er with your smiles Too blest if it tell me that, mid the gay cheer, Some kind voice has murmured, "I wish he were here! Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy; Which come, in the night-time of sorrow and care, And bring back the features which joy used to wear. Long, long be my heart with such memories filled ! Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. THOMAS MOORE, |