IX.

A mellow voice Fitz-Eustace had, The air he chose was wild and sad; Such have I heard, in Scottish land, Rise from the busy harvest band, When falls before the mountaineer, On Lowland plains, the ripened ear. Now one shrill voice the notes prolong, Now a wild chorus swells the song: Oft have I listened, and stood still, As it came softened up the hill, And deemed it the lament of men Who languished for their native glen; And thought how sad would be such sound On Susquehana’s swampy ground, Kentucky’s wood-encumbered brake, Or wild Ontario’s boundless lake, Where heart-sick exiles, in the strain, Recalled fair Scotland’s hills again!

X. SONG.

Where shall the lover rest, Whom the fates sever From his true maiden’s breast, Parted for ever? Where, through groves deep and high, Sounds the far billow, Where early violets die, Under the willow.

CHORUS.

_Eleu loro_, &c. Soft shall be his pillow. There, through the summer day, Cool streams are laving; There, while the tempests sway, Scarce are boughs waving; There, thy rest shalt thou take, Parted for ever, Never again to wake, Never, oh, never!

CHORUS.

_Eleu loro_, &c. Never, oh, never!