The West Virginia Journal

THE DEATH OF ANNIE LAURIE

I sung, when in the Crimea;
My bonnie Annie's praise,
My heart then turn'd in exile,
To sweet Maxwelton's braes.
To sweet Maxwelton's braes,
But sweet nae mair for me,
For I hae seen wi' anguish
Their fairest blossom dee.

When war's alarms were o'er
I sought my loved ane’s bower,
But death's cauld breath was blighting
Blighting my bonnie flower.
Blighting my bonnie flower,
And I nae help could gie,
Oh, why, when in the battle,
Did I na dee!

I sat, her cheek grew thinne:
Yet flush wi' hectic's hus,
I mark'd her e'e's strange brightness
Those e'es o' darkest blue.
Those e'es o' darkest blue
That beam'd sae saft on me,
When I cried, my Annie Laurie,
I canna gie thee dee.

Then calm as to nightly slumber
She sank in my arms to rest,
An' the wild flowers o' spring now cumber
The sod upon her breast.
The sod upon her breast,
Oh, what wad I na gie,
If beside my Annie Laurie
I could lay down an' dee.