An' oh! that hour, that hallowit hour,
My fond heart will never forget;
Though drear is the dule I haif suffer'd sin syne,
That hour gars my heart beat warmly yet.
The parting time cam, an' the parting time past,
An' it past nae without the saut tear,
An' awa' to anither an' farre awa' land
I gaed, an' I left my ain dear.
I gaed, an' though ither and brichter maids
Wuld smile wi' fond luve i' their e'e,
I but thocht o' the sweet green hour by the Clyde,
An' that thocht was enough for me.
MARY.
Oh! Mary, while thy gentle cheek
Is on my breast reclining,
And while these arms around thy form
Are fondly thus entwining;
It seems as if no earthly power
Our beating hearts could sever,
And that in ecstasy of bliss
We thus could hang for ever!
Yet ah! too well, too well we know,
The fiat fate hath spoken—
The spell that bound our souls in one,
The world's cold breath hath broken.
The hours—the days—whose heavenly light
Hath beam'd in beauty o'er us,
When Love his sunshine shed around,
And strew'd his flowers before us,
Must now be but as golden dreams,
Whose loveliness hath perish'd;
Wild dreams of hope, in human hearts
Too heavenly to be cherish'd.
Yet, oh! where'er our lot is cast,
The love that once hath bound us—
The thought that looks to days long past,
Will breathe a halo round us.