 | The bells |  |
116
MY HIGHLAND MARY.
How sweetly comes the picture now!—
The breathless wood, that August noon,
When 'mong the panting leaves you sang
“Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon!”
The very streamlets, gurgling low,
On happy ways did tarry,
And whispering zephyrs ceased their sighs
To hear my Highland Mary!
The breathless wood, that August noon,
When 'mong the panting leaves you sang
“Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon!”
The very streamlets, gurgling low,
On happy ways did tarry,
And whispering zephyrs ceased their sighs
To hear my Highland Mary!
And when the evening touched the trees,
And we turned homeward, you and I,
I blush to own “a body” kissed
“A body,” “Coming thro' the Rye!”
The very streamlets, gurgling low,
On happy ways did tarry,
And whispering zephyrs ceased their sighs
To hear my Highland Mary!
And we turned homeward, you and I,
I blush to own “a body” kissed
“A body,” “Coming thro' the Rye!”
The very streamlets, gurgling low,
On happy ways did tarry,
And whispering zephyrs ceased their sighs
To hear my Highland Mary!
117
Was ever moon more milky white,
Did ever stream have softer swells,
Than when at Sagamore I heard
The music of “Those Evening Bells!”
Ah, memory calls each cadence back
And trembles with a dim delight;
And Fancy listens till it hears
The warblings of that “Stilly Night!”
The very streamlets, gurgling low,
On happy ways did tarry,
And whispering zephyrs ceased their sighs
To hear my Highland Mary!
Did ever stream have softer swells,
Than when at Sagamore I heard
The music of “Those Evening Bells!”
Ah, memory calls each cadence back
And trembles with a dim delight;
And Fancy listens till it hears
The warblings of that “Stilly Night!”
The very streamlets, gurgling low,
On happy ways did tarry,
And whispering zephyrs ceased their sighs
To hear my Highland Mary!
| The bells | |