The Book of Scottish Song/The Maid of Islay

The Maid of Islay.

[Joseph Train.]

Rising o'er the heaving billow,
⁠Evening gilds the ocean's swell,
While with thee, on grassy pillow,
⁠Solitude! I love to dwell.
Lonely to the sea breeze blowing,
⁠Oft I chaunt my love-lorn strain,
To the streamlet sweetly flowing,
⁠Murmur oft a lover's pain.

'Twas for her, the Maid of Islay,
⁠Time flew o'er me wing'd with joy;
'Twas for her, the cheering smile aye
⁠Beam'd with rapture in my eye.
Not the tempest raving round me,
⁠Lightning's flash, or thunder's roll,
Not the ocean's rage could wound me,
⁠While her image fill'd my soul.

Farewell, days of purest pleasure,
⁠Long your loss my heart shall mourn!
Farewell, hours of bliss the measure,
⁠Bliss that never can return.
Cheerless o'er the wild heath wand'ring,
⁠Cheerless o'er the wave-worn shore,
On the past with sadness pond'ring,
⁠Hope's fair visions charm no more.

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