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Where hope first beguiled us,

And spells o'er us cast, And told us her visions,

Of beauty would last, That earth was an Eden,

Untainted with guile, And men were not destined

To sorrow and toil.

Where friendship first found us,

And gave us her hand,
And linked us for aye, to

That beautiful band.
Oh still shall this heart be,

And cold as the clay,
Ere one of their features,

Shall from it decay.

O fortune, thy favours

Are empty and vain,
Restore me the friends of

My boyhood again,
The hearts that are scattered,

Or cold in the tomb,

O give me again, in
Their beauty and bloom.

Tho' green are my laurels,

And fresh is my fame, And sweet is the magic,

Which dwells in a name, How gladly I'd give them,

To grasp but the hand, Of her that's away to

The shadowy land.

Away with ambition,

It brought me but pain, O give me the big heart

Of boyhood again; The faith and the friendship,

The rapture of yore, O shall they revisit.

This bosom no more.

MY LOVE IS LIKE THE LILY FLOWER.

My love is like the lily flower,

That blooms upon the lee,
I wadna gie ae blink o' her,

For a' the maids I see.

Her voice is like the bonnie bird's,
That warble 'mang the bowers,

Her breath is like the hawthorn when
It's wat wi' morning showers.

And frae the gowans o' the glen,
She's caught her modest grace,

And a' the blushes o' the rose,
Hae lept into her face.

She bears about I kenna hoo,

The joy o' simmer days,
The voice of streams and happy dreams,

Amang the broomy braes.

And when the bonnie lassie smiles

Sae sweetly upon me, Nae human tongue can ever tell,

The heaven that's in her e'e.

And a' the lee lang simmer day,

I'm in a dream divine,
And aye I wauken but to wish,

O were the lassie mine.

THE FIRST SORROW.

THE FIRST SORROW.

It is the merry month of June,
The flowers are fresh and fair,

The birds are warbling 'mong the boughs,
No sorrow any where.

The streams are singing as they leap,

So merrily along,
The trees are bending on the brink,

And list'ning to the song.

The apple orchard's all in bloom,

The bee is humming by, There's gladness in the gay green earth,

And rapture in the sky.

The schoolboys in the leafy woods,

Are busy at their play,
And merrily they shout, for life,

Is all a holiday

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