Rhode Island American And Providence Gazette

MISCELLANY.
From the Atheneum.
MY BONNY MARY.
Where Yarrow roves amang the rocks,
An' wheels an' boils in mony a linn,
A blithe young Shepherd fed his flocks,
Unused to branglement or din.
But love its silken net had thrown
Around his breast so brisk an' airy.
And his blue eyes wi' moisture shone
As thus he sung of bonny Mary.
"O Mary, thou'rt sae mild an' sweet,
My very being clings about thee,
This heart wad rather cease to beat,
Than beat a lonely thing without thee.
I see thee in the evening beam,
A radiant glorious apparition;
I see thee in the midnight dream,
By the dim light of heavenly vision.
"When over Benger's baughty head
The morning breaks in streaks sae bonny,
I climb the mountain's velvet side,
For quiet rest I get nae ony,
How sweet the brow on Brownhill cheek,
Where many a weary hour I tarry;
For there I see the twisted reek
Rise frae the cot where dwells my Mary.
"When Phoebus mounts out o'er the muir,
His gowden locks a' streaming gaily,
When morn has breathed its fragrance pure
An' life, an' joy ring through the valley,
I drive my flocks to yonder brook,
The feeble in my arms I carry,
Then every lambie's harmless look
Brings to my mind my bonny Mary.
"Oft has the lark sung o'er my head,
And shook the dew-drops frae her wing,
Oft hae my flocks forgot to feed,
And round their shepherd form'd a ring
Their looks condole the lee-lang day,
While mine are fix'd an' canna vary,
Aye turning down the westland brae,
Where dwells my loved, my bonny Mary.
"When gloaming o'er the welkin steals,
And haps the hills in solemn gray,
And bitterns cry, in their airy wheels,
Amang the wanderer on his way
Regardless of the wind or rain,
With cautious steps and prospect wary,
I often trace the lanely clen,
To steal a sight o' bonny Mary.
"When midnight draws her curtain deep,
And lulls the breeze amang the bushes
And Yarrow, in her sounding sweep,
By rocks and ruins, rushes and gushes;
Then, sunk in short and restless sleep,
My fancy wings her flight sae airy,
To where sweet guardian spirits keep
Their watch around the couch of Mary:
"The exile may forget his home;
Where blooming youth to manhood grew;
The bee forget the honey-comb,
Nor with the flower his toil renew:
The sun may quench his light and heat,
The planets in their rounds miscarry,
But my fond heart shall cease to beat
When I forget my bonny Mary."