AIR.--- "There was a Lass, and she was fair."
There is a spot I dearly lo'ed,
When I was summers nine or ten,
Where slender blue-bells wav'd and woo'd
Young barefoot wanderers to that glen.
So shy the wagtail bobb'd and bow'd---
A mystery was the little wren---
And purple berries there were pu'd
By laughin' bands in Lightburn Glen.
When gloamin breath'd upon thy stream,
And hush'd the song of roaming bee,
Ere yet the moon had lent her beam
To make thee lovelier, if might be;
Then still the lark proclaimed thy praise,
And challeng'd in his song divine
Those glorious two,* whose mellow lays
Charm'd the dark woods of Carntyne.
Another beauty met my gaze
In riper years, with all to join---
That lark might ne'er attempt to praise,
Nor all the choir of Carntyne.
If ye ha'e woo'd and hae'na won,
By dewy loan or leafy den;
There's no a place below the sun
I'd sooner try than Lightburn Glen.