Annie, Dear

Our mountain brooks were rushing,
Annie, dear,
The Autumn eve was flushing,
Annie, dear;
But brighter was your blushing,
When first, your murmurs hushing,
I told my love outgushing,
Annie, dear.

Ah ! but our hopes were splendid,
Annie, dear ;
How sadly have they ended,
Annie, dear ;
The ring betwixt us broken,
When our vows of love were spoken,
Of your poor heart was a token,
Annie, dear.

The primrose flowers were shining,
Annie, dear.
When, on my breast reclining,
Annie, dear,
Began our mi na meala
And many a month did follow
Of joy — but life is hollow,
Annie, dear.

For once, when home returning,
Annie, dear,
I found our cottage burning,
Annie, dear,
Around it were the yeomen,
Of every ill an omen,
The country's bitter foemen,
Annie, dear.

But why arose a morrow,
Annie, dear,
Upon that night of sorrow,
Annie, dear?
Far better, by thee lying,
Their bayonets defying,
Than live an exile sighing,
Annie, dear.