Annie o' the Banks o' Dee - Gordon Stables

Many years have passed away since the events I have related in this “ower-true” tale. Matty is a tall girl now, and her uncle’s constant companion. Reginald and Annie are lovers still—“happy, though married.” The heather still blooms bonnie on the hills; dark wave the pine trees in the forests around; the purring of the dove is heard mournfully sounding from the thickets of spruce, and the wildflowers grow on every bank and brae; but—the auld Laird has worn away. His home is under the long green grass and the daisies; yet even when the snow-clads that grave in a white cocoon, Annie never forgets to visit it, and rich and rare are the flowers that lie at its head.

And so my story ends, so drops the curtain down.

The End.