XXII.

THE SONG OF ROSALIE.


Row on! row on! to flowing Tay,
Thou Dighty, who art dear to me;
For here upon thy flowery brae
I parted last frae Rosalie.
Her hair, so rich in gowden hue,
Ilk plait was like a gowden string,
Her eyne were like the bonnie blue
That shines upon the halcyon's wing.

There is a worm that loves the bud,
And there is one that loves the bloom,
And there is one that seeks its food
Within the dark and silent tomb.

Thou speckled thrush, with tuneful throat,
Who sing'st within yon greenwood dell;
Sing on, for every trembling note
Brings back the voice I loved so well.
Thou little pansy, raise thy head,
And turn thine azure eye to me,
And so remind me of the dead,
My dearest, long lost Rosalie.

There is a worm that loves the bud,
And there is one that loves the bloom,