THE LASS OF CALDER BRAES.
(Tune—Logan Water)
WHen cares were few and life was young
On Calder’s braes I danc‘d and sung
Unpain’d by keen remorse’s dart,
Joy flow’d spontaneous from my heart!
To crown the happy mundane scene,
I lov’d—nor did I love in vain,
The theme of all my artless lays.
Was my dear lass of Calder Braes.
Thrice happy days! your loss I mourn;
You’re gone—ah! “never to return:”
Ambition’s ignis fatu s glare
Transform’d my bliss to black despair:
The pomp of war and pride of arms
Appear’d with such resistless charms,
I left to face my country’s faes
My weeping maid on Calder Braes.
In martial conflict first I shone,
In climes below the burning zone,
Beneath eringapatam’s wall,
I saw the tyrant Sultan’s fall
Amidst the carnage of that day,
