 | The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill |  |
59
THE MANIAC'S SONG.
Hark! 'tis the poor maniac's song:
She sits on yon wild craggy steep,
And while the winds mournfully whistle along,
She wistfully looks o'er the deep:
And aye she sings, “Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby!”
To hush the rude billows asleep.
She sits on yon wild craggy steep,
And while the winds mournfully whistle along,
She wistfully looks o'er the deep:
And aye she sings, “Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby!”
To hush the rude billows asleep.
She looks to yon rock far at sea,
And thinks it her lover's white sail,
The warm tear of joy glads her wild glist'ning eye,
As she beckons his vessel to hail:
And aye she sings, “Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby!”
And frets at the boisterous gale.
And thinks it her lover's white sail,
The warm tear of joy glads her wild glist'ning eye,
As she beckons his vessel to hail:
And aye she sings, “Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby!”
And frets at the boisterous gale.
Poor Susan was gentle and fair,
Till the seas robbed her heart of its joy;
Then her reason was lost in the gloom of despair,
And her charms then did wither and die:
And now her sad “Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby!”
Oft wakes the lone passenger's sigh.
Till the seas robbed her heart of its joy;
Then her reason was lost in the gloom of despair,
And her charms then did wither and die:
And now her sad “Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby!”
Oft wakes the lone passenger's sigh.
| The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill | |