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A Widow's Wail.

[_]

Air—“Gilderoy.”

Oh thou art lovely yet, my boy,
Even in thy winding-sheet;
I canna leave thy comely clay,
An' features calm an' sweet!
I have no hope but for the day
That we shall meet again,
Since thou art gone, my bonnie boy
An' left me here alane.
I hoped thy sire's loved form to see,
To trace his looks in thine;
An' saw with joy thy sparkling e'e
With kindling vigour shine.
I thought, when auld an' frail, I might
Wi' you an' yours remain;
But thou art fled, my bonnie boy,
An' left me here alane.
Now closed an' set thy sparkling eye,
Thy kind wee heart is still,
An' thy dear spirit far away
Beyond the reach of ill.
Ah! fain wad I that comely clay
Reanimate again;
But thou art fled, my bonnie boy,
An' left me here alane.
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The flower now fading on the lea
Shall fresher rise to view—
The leaf just falling from the tree
The year will soon renew;
But lang may I weep o'er thy grave,
Ere thou reviv'st again;
For thou art fled, my bonnie boy,
An' left me here alane.
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