Bring the bowl which you boast,
Fill it up to the brim;
’Tis to him we love most,
And to all who love him.
He is gone on the mountain,
"Have, then, thy wish!"--he whistled shrill,
And he was answer'd from the hill;
Wild as the scream of the curlew,
From crag to crag the signal flew.
The violet in her greenwood bower,
Where birchen boughs with hazel mingle,
May boast itself the fairest flower
O, Brignall banks are wild and fair,
And Greta woods are green,
And you may gather garlands there,
Would grace a summer queen:
Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking:
Dream of battled fields no more,
Days of danger, nights of waking.
Addressed to the Right Hon. Lady Anne Hamilton.
When princely Hamilton's abode
Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers,
So goodbye, Mrs. Brown,
I am going out of town,
Over dale, over down,
Where bugs bite not,
The Lady sought the lofty hall,
Where many a bold retainer lay,
And with jocund din among them all,
O listen, listen, ladies gay!
No haughty feat of arms I tell;