Song 12 Poem by Anne Hunter

WHERE the green ivy twining,
Binds round the burn's brow,
I heard a voice complaining
In numbers sad and low.
' Alas! she's gone for ever,
Now low in earth she lies;
And I, forlorn, shall never
Behold those speaking eyes.
' The pangs of grief beguiling,
She sooth'd our parting hour;
Amidst her tears soft smiling,
Like sunbeams thro' a shower.
' But, ah! she's gone for ever,
Now low in earth she lies,
And I, forlorn, must never
Behold those speaking eyes.'