 | The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill |  |
KITTY TYRELL.
The breeze of the night fans the dark mountain's breast,
And the light bounding deer have all sunk to their rest;
The big sullen waves lash the lough's rocky shore,
And the lone drowsy fisherman nods o'er his oar.
Though pathless the moor, and though starless the skies,
The star of my heart is my Kitty's bright eyes;
And joyful I hie over glen, brake, and fell,
In secret to meet my sweet Kitty Tyrell.
And the light bounding deer have all sunk to their rest;
The big sullen waves lash the lough's rocky shore,
And the lone drowsy fisherman nods o'er his oar.
Though pathless the moor, and though starless the skies,
The star of my heart is my Kitty's bright eyes;
And joyful I hie over glen, brake, and fell,
In secret to meet my sweet Kitty Tyrell.
Ah! long have we loved in her father's despite,
And oft we have met at the dead hour of night,
When hard-hearted Vigilance, sunk in repose,
Gave Love one sweet hour its fond tale to disclose.
These moments of transport, to me, oh how dear!
And the fate that would part us, alas, how severe!
Although the rude storm rise with merciless swell,
This night I shall meet my sweet Kitty Tyrell.
And oft we have met at the dead hour of night,
When hard-hearted Vigilance, sunk in repose,
Gave Love one sweet hour its fond tale to disclose.
These moments of transport, to me, oh how dear!
And the fate that would part us, alas, how severe!
Although the rude storm rise with merciless swell,
This night I shall meet my sweet Kitty Tyrell.
“Ah! turn, hapless youth! see the dark cloud of death
Comes rolling in gloom o'er the wild haunted heath;
Deep groans the scathed oak on the glen's cliffy brow,
And the sound of the torrent seems heavy with woe.”
Away, foolish seer, with thy fancies so wild,
Go, tell thy weak dreams to some credulous child;
Love guides my light steps through the lone dreary dell,
And I fly to the arms of sweet Kitty Tyrell.
Comes rolling in gloom o'er the wild haunted heath;
Deep groans the scathed oak on the glen's cliffy brow,
And the sound of the torrent seems heavy with woe.”
Away, foolish seer, with thy fancies so wild,
Go, tell thy weak dreams to some credulous child;
Love guides my light steps through the lone dreary dell,
And I fly to the arms of sweet Kitty Tyrell.
| The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill | |