But generous hearts will weep your fate,
When far has roll'd the tide of time;
And bards unborn shall renovate
Your fading fame in loftiest rhyme."

LOVELY MARY.[18]

AIR--_"Gowd in gowpens."_

I 've seen the lily of the wold,
I 've seen the opening marigold,
Their fairest hues at morn unfold,
But fairer is my Mary.
How sweet the fringe of mountain burn,
With opening flowers at spring's return!
How sweet the scent of flowery thorn!
But sweeter is my Mary.

Her heart is gentle, warm, and kind;
Her form 's not fairer than her mind;
Two sister beauties rarely join'd,
But join'd in lovely Mary.
As music from the distant steep,
As starlight on the silent deep,
So are my passions lull'd asleep
By love for bonnie Mary.

[18] This song was written during the author's first residence at Alloa.
The heroine was Miss Mary Douglas, a young lady of great personal
attractions, daughter of Captain Douglas, of the East India Company's
Marine Service, who resided in the village of Sauchie, in the vicinity.
She became the wife of a Mr Rhind, an Edinburgh gentleman, but died soon
after her marriage. Her remains were brought for interment to the
churchyard of Alloa.

HER BLUE ROLLIN' E'E.

AIR--_"Banks of the Devon."_

My lassie is lovely, as May day adorning
Wi' gowans an' primroses ilka green lee;
Though sweet is the violet, new blown i' the morning,
As tender an' sweet is her blue rollin' e'e.
O, say what is whiter than snaw on the mountain?
Or what wi' the red rose in beauty can vie?
Yes, whiter her bosom than snaw on the mountain,
An' bonnie her face as the red rose can be.

See yon lowly cottage that stands by the wild-wood,
Hedged round wi' the sweetbriar and green willow-tree,
'Twas yonder I spent the sweet hours of my childhood,
An' first felt the power of a love-rollin' e'e.
Though soon frae my hame an' my lassie I wander'd;
Though lang I 've been tossing on fortune's rough sea;
Aye dear was the valley where Ettrick meander'd;
Aye dear was the blink o' her blue-rollin' e'e.

Oh! for the evening, and oh! for the hour,
When down by yon greenwood she promised to be;
When quick as the summer-dew dries on the flower,
A' earthly affections and wishes wad flee.
Let Art and let Nature display their proud tre