I.

Mournfully, sing mournfully— “O listen, Ellen, sister dear; Is there no help at all for me, But only ceaseless sigh and tear? Why did not he who left me here, With stolen hope steal memory? O listen, Ellen, sister dear, (Mournfully, sing mournfully)— I’ll go away to Sleamish hill, I’ll pluck the fairy hawthorne tree, And let the spirits work their will; I care not if for good or ill, So they but lay the memory Which all my heart is haunting still! (Mournfully, sing mournfully)— The Fairies are a silent race, And pale as lily flowers to see; I care not for a blanched face, Nor wandering in a dreaming place, So I but banish memory:— I wish I were with Anna Grace!” Mournfully, sing mournfully!—