Her kiss was soft.
[James Yool, of Paisley.—Air, "What this heart o' mine."]
Her kiss was soft and sweet,
Her smiles were free and fain,
And beaming bright the witching glance
Of her I thought my ain.
That kiss has poison'd peace,
Her smiles have rous'd despair,
For kindly though her glances be,
They beam on me nae mair.
Now lonely's every haunt
That I once trode with joy,
And dull and drear the sacred grove
Where we were wont to toy.
The rose can please nae mair,
The lily seems to fade,
And waefu' seems the blackbird's sang,
That us'd to cheer the glade.
This bosom once was gay,
But now a brow of gloom
Pourtrays, in characters of care,
That it is pleasure's tomb.
Yet none shall hear the sigh
That struggles to be free,
No tear shall trace this sallow cheek,
Nor murmur burst from me.
Though silent be my woe,
'Tis not the less severe—
Forlorn I brood on former joys
To love and mem'ry dear.
She minds na o' the vows
That seal'd our youthful love,
But heaven has records that will last,
My faith and truth to prove.