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Many years ago, a poor Highland Soldier, on his return to his native hills, fatigued, as it was supposed, by the length of the march and the heat of the weather, sat down under the shade of a birch tree on the solitary road of Lowran, that winds along the margin of Lochken in Galloway. Here he was found dead, and this incident forms the subject of the following verses.
From the climes of the sun, all war-worn and
Till, spent with the march that still lengthened before him,
He sunk to repose where the red heaths are blended,
They have made her a grave too cold and damp, For a soul so warm and true,
And she's gone to the lake of the Dismal Swamp,
And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see,
Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds,
And when on earth he sunk to sleep,
And near him the she-wolf stirred the brake,
He saw the lake-and the meteor bright
Welcome,' he said, my dear one's light!' And the dim shore echoed for many a night The name of the death-cold maid !
Till he formed a boat of the birchen bark,
Far he followed the meteor spark;
The winds were high, and the clouds were dark,
But oft from the Indian hunter's camp,
This lover and maid so true,
Are seen, at the hour of midnight damp,
I never cast a flower away,
The gift of one who cared for me,
I never looked a last adieu
To things familiar, but my heart
I never spoke the word farewell!
But with an utterance faint and broken;
DEATH AND BURIAL OF A CHILD AT SEA.
My boy refused his food, forgot to play,