OH! HERE LIES LOW THE

BONNIE LASS.

I.

OH! here lies low the bonnie lass,

The maiden that I lo'e:

She lies within this narrow bed,
Where I maun soon lie too:

Death's clay-cauld hand has still'd the heart
That aye was kind and true;

The form o'er which I fondly hung

Is sheltered by the yew.

II.

The flowers bloom bonnie o'er the bed

O' her that I held dear:

And dark, dark is the envious grave

That keeps me mourning here.

I've nae ane noo to live for,

And the warld's nought to me;

Oh! life's a weary pilgrimage,

My Mary, wanting thee.

III.

Pale, pale for ever are those lips
That I hae often kissed;

And cauld for ever are those cheeks
That I hae often pressed;

And still for ever is that voice,

Once music to my ear;

Those beaming eyes that shone so bright

Are closed for ever here.

IV.

Oh! well I know the blissful home
In which my love doth dwell,

In yon bright land where happy ones
Their holy anthems swell,-

Where saints for ever sing their songs
To God who reigns on high,—

Where sorrow never more is known,

Nor tears bedim the eye.

V.

But I am left alone on earth,

My grief I cannot hide;

And I will ne'er find peace or rest
Till slumbering by her side:
Till then, my beating heart, be still,
Which now in sorrow lies:

Oh! I may soon be blest wi' her,
Beyond yon sunny skies.

WHEN THINKING UPON MY SAD FATE.

I.

WHEN thinking upon my sad fate, wi' my Annie, This bosom o' mine it is burdened wi' care:

There's something within tells me plain that I maunna

Think I can get peace

to my

soul ony mair.

II.

I think there is nane o' her kind half sae bonnie, There's nane o' her kind half sae bonnie can be:

Her face it is fairer, far fairer than ony,

Her form it seems like an angel's to me.

III.

Sometimes in my fondness, when on her I'm thinking

I stand and look down wi' the tear i'
my e'e,
I find my wae heart in my bosom aye sinking,
Then start, quite regardless wherever I gae.

IV.

I start, but the wound in my bosom is biding,
Ah! muckle I fear it will ne'er gang awa;

An' though a' my grief frae my friends I am hiding,
The cauld hand o' death will devour and tell a'.