The Maid of Islay

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 chant 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.