FOOTNOTES:

[6] A beautiful sylvan stream, falling from the uplands into the Annan,
between Ecclefechan and Lockerbie.

I 'LL THINK ON THEE, LOVE.

I 'll think on thee, Love, when thy bark
Hath borne thee far across the deep;
And, as the sky is bright or dark,
'Twill be my fate to smile or weep;
For oh, when winds and waters keep
In trust so dear a charge as thee,
My anxious fears can never sleep
Till thou again art safe with me!

I 'll think on thee, Love, when each hour
Of twilight comes, with pensive mood,
And silence, like a spell of power,
Rests, in its depth, on field and wood;
And as the mingling shadows brood
Still closer o'er the lonely sea,
Here, on the beach where first we woo'd,
I 'll pour to heaven my prayers for thee.

Then haply on the breeze's wing,
That to me steals across the wave,
Some angel's voice may answer bring
That list'ning heaven consents to save.
And oh, the further boon I crave
Perchance may also granted be,
That thou, return'd, no more shalt brave
The wanderer's perils on the sea!

THERE 'S MUSIC IN A MOTHER'S VOICE.

There 's music in a mother's voice,
More sweet than breezes sighing;
There 's kindness in a mother's glance,
Too pure for ever dying.

There 's love within a mother's breast,
So deep, 'tis still o'erflowing,
And for her own a tender care,
That 's ever, ever growing.

And when a mother kneels to heaven,
And for her child is praying,
Oh, who shall half the fervour tell
That burns in all she 's saying!

A mother, when she, like a star,
Sets into heaven before us,
From that bright home of love, all pure,
Still minds and watches o'er us.

THE BRIG OF ALLAN.

Come, memory, paint, though far away,
The wimpling stream, the broomy brae,
The upland wood, the hill-top gray,
Whereon the sky seems fallin';
Paint me each cheery, glist'ning row
Of shelter'd cots, the woods below,
Where Airthrie's healing waters flow
By bonny Brig of Allan.

Paint yonder Grampian heights sublime,
The Roman eagles could not climb,
And Stirling, crown'd in after time
With Royalty's proud dwallin';
These, with the Ochils, sentry keep,
Where Forth, that fain in view would sleep,
Tries, from his Links, oft