"
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,
And there is one that seeks its food
Within the dark and dreary tomb.
Thou lambkin on yon hillock's brow,
That sportest in thy gamesome mood,
Play on! for thou remind'st me now
Of one as innocent and good;
All emblems dear, for thoughts you bring
Of her who loved you all to see,
When through the woods in early spring
Ilk bird seemed calling "Rosalie."
But there's 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 dreary tomb.
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