Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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THE BRAES OF BUSBIE. |
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
205
THE BRAES OF BUSBIE.
What anguish wrung my throbbing heart,
When fate decreed I should depart
Far from the lovely banks of Cart,
And the bonny braes of Busbie, O.
In vain I strove to check the sigh,
Or tear that glitter'd in the eye,
While thinking that the hour drew nigh
Which drove me far from Busbie, O.
When fate decreed I should depart
Far from the lovely banks of Cart,
And the bonny braes of Busbie, O.
In vain I strove to check the sigh,
Or tear that glitter'd in the eye,
While thinking that the hour drew nigh
Which drove me far from Busbie, O.
'Twas not to leave the verdant bowers,
Nor glen, bespread with summer flowers;
'Twas not to leave that stream, which pours
Its murmuring tide through Busbie, O.
But parting with Eliza dear,
Of blooming cheek, and eye so clear—
'Twas that which brought the frequent tear,
When I took leave of Busbie, O.
Nor glen, bespread with summer flowers;
'Twas not to leave that stream, which pours
Its murmuring tide through Busbie, O.
But parting with Eliza dear,
Of blooming cheek, and eye so clear—
'Twas that which brought the frequent tear,
When I took leave of Busbie, O.
Though far from her embraces torn,
Yet oft on fancy homeward borne,
With her I sat beneath yon thorn,
Among the braes of Busbie, O.
And cheering hope, with radiant smile,
Would still the fleeting hours beguile,
When far from my dear native isle,
And the bonny braes of Busbie, O.
Yet oft on fancy homeward borne,
With her I sat beneath yon thorn,
Among the braes of Busbie, O.
And cheering hope, with radiant smile,
Would still the fleeting hours beguile,
When far from my dear native isle,
And the bonny braes of Busbie, O.
But now return'd, again I rove
With her, by lonely grot or grove,
And fan the mutual flame of love,
Among the braes of Busbie, O.
Let heroes chase the phantom Fame,
Peru's rich ore let misers claim—
My only wish, my dearest aim,
Is that sweet nymph of Busbie, O.
With her, by lonely grot or grove,
And fan the mutual flame of love,
Among the braes of Busbie, O.
Let heroes chase the phantom Fame,
Peru's rich ore let misers claim—
My only wish, my dearest aim,
Is that sweet nymph of Busbie, O.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |