University of Virginia Library


59

A TRIBUTE TO THE SPIRIT OF ROBERT BURNS.

Oh, why are Coila's banks so gay?
Why there do still the maids delay?
Their sweetest joy is fled away—
The minstrel's song;
For he who sung, no more would stay
Their groves among.
Oh! if ye yet will linger there,
Come join to mine a gentle pray'r,
And we'll a simple wreath prepare
For Ayr's sweet swain,
Of heather bells and daisies fair,
That starr'd the plain.

60

We'll hang the garland on a tree,
And mark the cooing wood-dove flee
From ancient haunts in cheerful glee,
To rest her there;
And there the throstle we shall see,
And lark repair.
Each ev'ning shall the nightingale
To list'ning fairies tell her tale,
Who will, till morning's dawn, bewail
In whisp'ring moan,
For him, the pride of Scottish dale,
So early flown!
We'll bid the gale sweep softly by,
And 'midst the waving rushes sigh,
And breathe to wand'ring travellers nigh
His fav'rite name,
Who, joining in sweet sympathy,
Repeat the same.

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Here shall the wood nymphs oft be seen
Smoothing the lawn so fair and green,
Where sportive fawns before had been
Amid the shade;
And haunt where, in the peaceful scene,
His wreath is laid.