The Book of Scottish Song/Mary Macneil

Mary Macneil.

[From the Edinburgh Intelligencer, 23d December, 1840.—Air, "Kinloch of Kinloch."—Erskine Conolly, the author of this and several other sweet songs, was born "in Crail toun," Fifeshire, and died at Edinburgh, January 7th, 1843.]

The last gleam o' sunset in ocean was sinkin',
⁠Owre mountain an' meadowland glintin' fare-weel;
An' thousands o' stars in the heavens were blinkin',
⁠As bright as the een o' sweet Mary Macneil.
A' glowin' wi' gladness she lean'd on her lover,
⁠Her een tellin' secrets she thought to conceal;
And fondly they wander'd whar nane might discover
⁠The tryst o' young Ronald an' Mary Macneil.

O! Mary was modest, an' pure as the lily
⁠That dew-draps o' mornin' in fragrance reveal;
Nae fresh bloomin' flow'ret in hill or in valley
⁠Could rival the beauty of Mary Macneil.
She moved, and the graces play'd sportive around her;
⁠She smiled, and the hearts o' the cauldest wad thrill;
She sang, an' the mavis cam' listenin' in wonder,
⁠To claim a sweet sister in Mary Macneil.

But ae bitter blast on its fair promise blawin',
⁠Frae spring a' its beauty an' blossoms will steal;
An' ae sudden blight on the gentle heart fa'in',
⁠Inflicts the deep wound nothing earthly can heal.
The simmer saw Ronald on glory's path hiein'—
⁠The autumn, his corse on the red battle-fiel';
The winter, the maiden found heart-broken, dyin';
⁠An' spring spread the green turf owre Mary Macniel!

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