If I had thought thou couldst have died. If I had thought thou couldst have died, I might not weep for thee; But I forgot, when by thy side, That thou couldst mortal be; And still upon that face I look, And still the thought I will not brook But, when I speak, thou dost not say What thou ne'er leftst unsaid, If thou wouldst stay e'en as thou art, I still might press thy silent heart, And where thy smiles have been! While e'en thy chill bleak corse I have, Thou seemest still mine own, But there I lay thee in thy grave - And I am now alone I do not think, where'er thou art, And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart In thinking too of thee; Yet there was round thee such a dawn Sonnet, AT OSTEND, JULY 22, 1787. REV. CHAS. WOLFE How sweet the tuneful bells' responsive peal! W. L. BowLES. 66 The Braes of Varrow. "THY braes were bonny, Yarrow stream! 66 Thou art to me a stream of sorrow; For never on thy banks shall I Behold my love, the flower of Yarrow! 'He promised me a milk-white steed, To 'squire me to his father's towers; Alas! his watery grave in Yarrow! Sweet were his words when last we met; That I should never more behold him! And gave a doleful groan through Yarrow. "His mother from the window looked, With all the longing of a mother; His little sister weeping walked 66 The green-wood path to meet her brother: They sought him east, they sought him west, They sought him all the forest thorough; They only saw the cloud of night, They only heard the roar of Yarrow. No longer from thy window look, Thou hast no son, thou tender mother! No longer walk, thou lovely maid; Alas, thou hast no more a brother! No longer seek him, east or west, And search no more the forest thorough; "The tear shall never leave my cheek, I'll seek thy body in the stream, And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow." And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. LOGAN. Cament of the Irish Emigrant. I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary, Where we sat side by side On a bright May mornin' long ago, The place is little changed, Mary, 'T is but a step down yonder lane, But the grave-yard lies between, Mary, |