The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson ... for the first time fully collected and compared with the original and early editions ... edited ... by the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart ... with portrait, illustrations, &c |
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SONG. |
 | The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson |  |
410
SONG.
The sun had shone o'er loch and lea,
An' frae the north the fierce win' came;
When Mattie frae her straw-roof'd cot,
Gaed out to wander far frae hame.
An' as her bosom heav'd the sigh,
She said—she said, in her deep grief—
“I'll lay me on yon braes and die!
For nought can gie this heart relief.
An' frae the north the fierce win' came;
When Mattie frae her straw-roof'd cot,
Gaed out to wander far frae hame.
An' as her bosom heav'd the sigh,
She said—she said, in her deep grief—
“I'll lay me on yon braes and die!
For nought can gie this heart relief.
Oh! saftly, O, ye breezes blaw,
That rage alang yon hills sae hie;
An' saftly rain fa' on the deep,
For my dear lad is far at sea.
Baith nicht an' day for him I sigh,
Alas! for me there's nought but grief;
“I'll lay me on yon braes and die,
An' gie this weary heart relief.”
That rage alang yon hills sae hie;
An' saftly rain fa' on the deep,
For my dear lad is far at sea.
Baith nicht an' day for him I sigh,
Alas! for me there's nought but grief;
“I'll lay me on yon braes and die,
An' gie this weary heart relief.”
She wander'd far owre moor an' dale,
She wander'd deep, deep through the snaw;
She wander'd far by burn an' brae,
Till wi' fatigue she down did fa'.
Nae mair her bosom heaves the sigh,
Nae mair she says in her deep grief—
“I'll lay me on yon braes an' die,”
For death has now gi'en her relief.
She wander'd deep, deep through the snaw;
She wander'd far by burn an' brae,
Till wi' fatigue she down did fa'.
Nae mair her bosom heaves the sigh,
Nae mair she says in her deep grief—
“I'll lay me on yon braes an' die,”
For death has now gi'en her relief.
A. WILSON.
| The poems and literary prose of Alexander Wilson | |