Jeanie Graham.
[Wilson.—Tune, "Ye banks and braes of bonnie Doon."]
She whose lang loose unbraided hair
Falls on a breast o' purest snaw,
Was ance a maid as mild an' fair,
As e'er wil'd stripling's heart awa'.
But sorrow's shade has dimm'd her e'e,
And gather'd round her happy hame,
Yet wherefore sad? and where is he,
The plighted love of Jeanie Graham?
The happy bridal day was near,
And blythe young joy beam'd on her brow,
But he is low she lov'd so dear,
And she a virgin widow now.
The night was mirk, the stream was high,
And deep and darkly down it came;
He sunk—and wild his drowning cry
Rose in the blast to Jeanie Graham.
Bright beams the sun on Garnet hill,
The stream is calm, the sky is clear;
But Jeanie's lover's heart is still,
Her anguish'd sobs he cannot hear.
Oh! make his grave in yonder dell,
Where willows wave above the stream,
That every passing breeze may wail,
For broken-hearted Jeanie Graham.