The Bower of Tay

Wear away, ye hues of spring,
Ye blooms of summer fade away,
Round the welcome season bring
That leads my steps to Highland Tay.
Dear to me the day — the hour,
When last her winding wave I saw,
But dearer still the bonnie bower
That lies aneath yon greenwood shaw.

Aye we sat, and aye we sighed,
For there was one my arms within ;
Aye the restless stream we eyed,
And heard its soft and soothing din :
The sun had sought Glen-Lyon's glade,
Forth peered the evening's modest gem ;
And every little cloud that strayed
Looked gaudy in its gowden hem.

The playful breeze across the plain
Brought far the wood-lark's wooer tale,
And gambolled o'er the mellow grain
In mimic waves adown the dale.
I saw the drops of dew so clear
Upon the green leaf trembling lie,
And, sweeter far, the crystal tear
That trembled in a lovely eye.

When lovers meet, 'tis to the mind
The spring-flush of the blooming year ;
But oh, their parting leaves behind
A glow to memory ever dear.
Ettrick's fairy banks are green,
And Yarrow braes are mooned with grey ;
But gloaming fall was never seen
Like that I viewed in bower of Tay.