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How comfortless passes the day!
How sad tolls the evening bell!
The owls from the battlements cry,
Hollow wind seems to murmur around,
“O Mary prepare thee to die,”
My blood it runs cold at the sound.



Fair Sally once the village pride
Lies cold and wan in yonder valley:
She lost her lover, and she died,
Grief broke the heart of gentle Sally.
Young Valient was the hero’s name,
For early valour fir’d the boy,
Who barter’d all his love for fame,
And kill’d the hopes of Sally Roy.

Swift from the arms of weeping love,
As rag’d the war in yonder valley,
He rush’d his martial power to prove,
While faint with fear sunk lovely Sally.
At noon she saw the youth depart,
At eve she lost her darling joy;
Ere night the last throb of her heart
Declar’d the fate of sally Roy.

The virgin train in tears are seen,
When yellow midnight fills the valley,
Slow stealing o’er the dewy green,
Towards the grave of gentle Sally: