4
O hang your heads while I bemoan
My true-love Sandy, far awa.
Alas! frae Scotia's peacefu' shore,
Where blooming first he caught my ee-
Beyond the broad Atlantic's roar,
He roams unknown, afar frae me.
For him wi' grief my bosom's torn!
For him my tears unnumber'd fa!
In pensive woe, anon I mourn
My true-love Sandy, far awa.
When, in the midnight silent hours,
Bright Fancy's dreams around me rove,
Conducting me to Indian bow'rs,
Or clasping him in some wild grove,
O how with rapture him I hail!
In bliss the sigh of love I draw!
But soon, ah! soon, I wake to wail
My true love Sandy, far awa.
THE TEAR.
On beds of snow the moon-beam slept,
And chilly was the midnight gloom,
When by the damp grave Ellen wept;
Sweet maid! it was her Lindor's tomb.
A warm tear gush'd, the wintry air
Coageal'd it as it flow'd away;
