To the Tune of, Gallowshiels.
AH the shepherd’s mournful fate,
When doom’d to love, and doom’d to languish,
To bear the scornful fair one’s hate,
Nor dare disclose his anguish.
Yet eager looks, and dying sighs,
My secret soul discover,
While rapture trembling thro’ mine eyes,
Reveals how much I love her.
The tender glance, the redning cheek,
O’erspread with rising blushes,
A thousand various ways they speak
A thousand various wishes.
For oh! that form so heavenly fair,
Those languid eyes so sweetly smiling,
That artless blush, and modest air,
So fatally beguiling.
Thy every look, and every grace,
So charm whene’er I view thee;
Till death o’ertake me in the chace,
Still will my hopes persue thee.
Then when my tedious hours are past,
Be this last blessing given,
Low at thy feet to breathe my last,
And die in sight of heaven.