But what can make the hours seem lang,
An' rin sae wondrous dreary?
What but the space that lies between
Me an' my only dearie.
Then fare ye weel, wha saw me aft,
Sae blythe, baith late and early;
An' fareweel scenes o' former joys,
That cherish life sae rarely;
Baith love an' beauty bid me flee,
Nor linger lang an' eerie,
But haste, an' in my arms enfauld,
My only pride an' dearie.
I 'll hail Lochaber's valleys green,
Where many a rill meanders;
I 'll hail wi' joy, its birken bowers,
For there Louisa wanders.
There will I clasp her to my breast,
An' tent her smile fu' cheerie;
An' thus, without a wish or want,
Live happy wi' my dearie.
THE HAZELWOOD WITCH.
For mony lang year I hae heard frae my grannie
Of brownies an' bogles by yon castle wa',
Of auld wither'd hags that were never thought cannie,
An' fairies that danced till they heard the cock caw.
I leugh at her tales; an' last owk, i' the gloamin',
I daunder'd, alane, down the hazelwood green;
Alas! I was reckless, and rue sair my roamin',
For I met a young witch, wi' twa bonnie black e'en.
I thought o' the starns in a frosty night glancing,
Whan a' the lift round them is cloudless an' blue;
I looked again, an' my heart fell a-dancing,
When I wad hae spoken, she glamour'd my mou'.
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