For there I took the last farewell
O’ my sweet Highland Mary.
At the foot of the hill on which stood Castle Montgomery flowed the River Doon, winding and twisting itself through richly wooded scenery on its way to Ayr Bay. On the hillside of the stream stood the old stone dairy, covered with ivy and shaded by overhanging willows. Within its cool, shady walls the merry lassies sang at their duties, with hearts as light and carefree as the birds that flew about the open door. Their duties over for the day, they had returned to their quarters in the long, low wing of the castle, and silence reigned supreme over the place, save for the trickling of the Doon splashing over the stones as it wended its tuneful way to join the waters of the Ayr.
Suddenly the silence was broken; borne on the evening breeze came the sound of a sweet, high voice singing:
“Oh where and oh where is my Highland laddie gone,”
sang the sweet singer, plaintively from the hilltop. Nearer and nearer it approached as the owner followed the winding path down to the river’s bank. Suddenly the drooping willows were parted, and there looked out the fairest face surely that mortal eyes had ever seen.
About sixteen years of age, with ringlets of flaxen hair flowing unconfined to her waist, laughing blue eyes, bewitchingly overarched by dark eyebrows, a rosebud mouth, now parted in song, between two rounded dimpled cheeks, such was the bonnie face of Mary Campbell, known to all around as “Highland Mary.” Removing her plaidie, which hung gracefully from one shoulder, she spread it on the mossy bank, and, casting herself down full length upon it, her head pillowed in her hand, she finished her song, lazily, dreamily, letting it die out, slowly, softly floating into nothingness. Then for a moment she gave herself up to the mere joy of living, watching the leaves as they fell noiselessly into the stream and were carried away, away until they were lost to vision. Gradually her thoughts became more centered. That particular spot was full of sweet memories to her. It was here, she mused dreamily, that she and Robert had parted a year ago. It was here on the banks of the Doon they so often had met and courted and loved, and here it was they had stood hand in hand and plighted their troth, while the murmuring stream seemed to whisper softly, “For eternity, for all eternity.” And here in this sequestered spot, on that second Sunday of May, they had spent the day in taking a last farewell. Would she ever forget it? Oh, the pain of that parting! Her eyes filled with tears at the recollection of her past misery. But she brushed them quickly away with a corner of her scarf. He had promised to send for her when he was getting along well, and she had been waiting day after day for that summons, full of faith in his word. For had he not said as he pressed her to his heart:
“I hae sworn by the heavens to my Mary,
I hae sworn by the heavens to be true.