The Sunday herald. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1866-1887, 1886-03-14

The moon has climbed the highest hill
Which rises o'er the source of Dee,
And from the eastern summit shed
Her silver light on tower and tree;
When Mary laid her down TO sleep,
Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea,
When, soft and low, a voice was heard
Saying, "Mary, weep no more for mel"
She from her pillow gently raised
Her head, to ask who there might be,
And saw young Sandy shivering stand,
With vlsage pale and hollow e'e.
70 Mary, dear, cold la my clay;
1t lies beneath q stormy sea.
Far, far from thee sleep In death;
So, Mary, weep no more for mel
"Three stormy nights and stormy days
We tossed upon tile raging main;
And long we strove our bark to save,
But all our striving was in vain.
Even then, when horror chilled my blood,
My heart was filled with love for thee;
The storm Is past, and at rest;
SO, Mary, weep no more for me!
so maiden, dear, thyself prepare;
We soon shall meet upon that shore
Where love is free from doubt and care,
And thou and shall part no morev'
Loud crOwed the cock, the shadow fed,
No more of Sandy could she see;
But soft the passing spirit said,
"Sweet Mary, weep no more for me.'
Sir Walter Scott used to say that he never could
hear this song without crying, and yet as child he
continually besought his nurse to sing 1t. More ar
tifcia In tone and sentiment, but yet full OF plain
tive sweetness, was
ALLAN WATER.
On the banks OF Allan Water,
When the sweet spring time did fall,
Was the miler's lovely daughter,
Farest OF them all.
For his bride soldier sought her,
And winning tongue had he.
On the banks OF Allan Water
None so gay rs she.
on the banks OF Allan Water,
When brown Autumn spreads Its store,
There saw the mer's daughter,
But she smiled no more.
For the summer grief had brought her,
And the soldier, false was he..
ON the banks of Allan Water
None SO sad as she.
on the bank of Allan Water,
When the winter snow fell fast,
Still was seen the mlller's daughter
Chilling blew the blast.
But the millers lovely daughter
Both from cold and care was free;
On the banks Of Allan Water
There a corse lay she.
This pathetic little song was written by Matthew
Gregory Lewis familiarly known In his day as
"Monk" Lewis from his novel of that name. 1t was
favorte In English musical circles three, quarters
OF century ago. The air was composed by Charles
Edward Horn, Of London.
Another song, which was quite fayorite In Its
day, was "Begone, Dull Care" the authorship OF
which, together with the name of the composer, has
been lost:
BECOME, DULL CARE
Begone, dull care!
prlthee begone from me.
Begone, dull care!
Thou and can never agree
Long while thou hast been tarrying here
And fa!n thou wouldst me kill;
But = faith, dull care,
Thou never shalt have thy will.
Too much care
VIII make young man look gray;
Too much care
VIII turn an old man to clay:
My wife shall dance and will sing
And wen merrily pass the day,
| For hold 1t IL the wsest thing
| To drive dull care away.
| Hence, dull care
| III none Of thy company!
| Hence, dull care,
Thou art no pair for me.
| Wen hunt the wild boar through the void,
| SO merrily pass the day;
And then at night DER cheerful bowl
Wen drive dull care away.