Now lanely I sit.
[Alex. Fullarton.—Tune, "Bonnie Dundee."]
Now lanely I sit 'neath the green spreading willow,
The loss o' my Johnnie in tears to deplore:
Loud blows the wind o'er the white foaming billow;
But the wild howling storm can awake him no more!
Bravely he fought on the hills of Vimiera,
Was doom'd at Corunna, with Moore, to lie low;
But bravely he fell, his brave comrades declare a',
While fearless he press'd on the ranks of the foe.
Oh! blirty and blae was the day when we parted!
And sair blew the blast on the bare naked tree:
But mild was the storm when compared wi' the tempest
That raved in my heart, and that blindit my e'e.
Fondly, but vainly, he strove for to cheer me,
And spak' o' braw days when again he'd be free:
But ah! never mair shall the sight o' my Johnnie
Bring joy to my heart, or yet gladden my e'e.
O sweet war the hours that I spent wi' my laddie,
And saft were the tales that he tauld in mine ear;
Light beat my heart as sae blythesome and cheerie
We met 'mang the breckans, when e'enin' was near:
Wild throbb'd my bosom as fondly he prest me,
And urged my consent, and derided delay;
But now ilka scene whar he kindly caress'd me
Gi'es pain, since my Johnnie lies cauld in the clay.
Pale glides his ghost on the hills of Corunna:
Fancy, O waft the dear shade to my view!
Fearless, alone I'd converse wi' my Johnnie,
Nor tremble to meet him beside the lone yew.
Down by yon hawthorn, so lately in blossom,
That drooping and wither'd now seems in decay,
There aft was I prest to that dear manly bosom,
That, sairly lamented, lies cauld in the clay.