The Book of Scottish Song/O, leave me not

O, leave me not.

[From a volume of very clever poetical pieces, entitled, "Rambling Rhymes, by Alexander Smart: Edinburgh, 1834." Mr. Smart is, we understand, a compositor in Edinburgh.]

O, leave me not! the evening hour,
⁠So soft, so still, is all our own;
The dew descends on tree and flower,
⁠They breathe their sweets for thee alone.
O, go not yet!—the evening star,
⁠The rising moon, all bid thee stay;
And dying echoes, faint and far,
⁠Invite our lingering steps to stray.

Far from the city's noisy din,
⁠Beneath the pale moon's trembling light,
That lip to press—those smiles to win—
⁠Will lend a rapture to the night.
Let fortune fling her fiivours free
⁠To whom she will, I'll ne'er repine—
O, what is all the world to me,
⁠While thus I clasp and call thee mine?

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