Oh lassie tell me can'st thou lo'e,
I hae gaz'd upon thy glancin' e'e;
It soars aboon, it rolls below,
But, ah, it never rests on me.

Oh lassie I hae socht the hour
When pity wak'nin' lo'e might be,
Tell my sair heart a gauldin' flower
Has droopit in thy glancin' e'e.

Oh lassie, turn not sae awa'
Disdainfu', gie na death to me;
Does pity mark the tears that fa'?
Exhale them wi' thy glancin' e'e.

C.C.

* * * * *


WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

(_For the Mirror_.)

"There is a voice from the grave sweeter than song."--_Washington
Irving_.


Illustrious dead! one tributary sigh,
In that great temple where the mighty lie,