A Widow's Wail

O Thou art lovely yet, my boy,
Even in thy winding-sheet ;
I canna leave thy comely clay,
An' features calm an' sweet !
I have no hope but for the day
That we shall meet again,
Since thou art gone, my bonny boy,
An' left me here alane !

I hoped thy sire's loved form to see,
To trace his looks in thine ;
An' saw with joy thy sparkling ee
With kindling vigour shine !

I thought, when auld an' frail, I might
Wi' you an' yours remain ;
But thou art fled, my bonny boy,
An' left me here alane !

Now closed an' set thy sparkling eye,
Thy kind wee heart is still,
An' thy dear spirit far away
Beyond the reach of ill !
Ah ! fain wad I that comely clay
Reanimate again ;
But thou art fled, my bonny boy,
An' left me here alane !

The flower now fading on the lea
Shall fresher rise to view, —
The leaf just falling from the tree
The year will soon renew ;
But lang may I weep o'er thy grave
Ere thou reviv'st again ;
For thou art fled, my bonny boy,
An' left me here alane !