Donald's Return.

Far over yon mountain, and down by a fountain,
Whose dark winding waters roll down to the sea,
There sat a young lady row'd up in her plaidie,—
' Twas bonny young Mary the flower of the lea.
She lean'd 'neath a willow, the soft fog her pillow,
With heart fill'd with sorrow, the tear in her e'e,
While watching the motion of the restless ocean,
For Donald her true love was far on the sea.

The skies widely darken'd as Mary still hearken'd
To hear what she could through the roar of the main,—
But still sorely weeping, as watch she was keeping,
Oft sighing "I'll ne'er see my Donald again."
The waves high were lashing, 'gainst rocks loudly dashing,
While thus his returning despairing the more,
"Oh, is he returning"—she cried sadly mourning—
"Or will he be lost 'mid the storm's angry roar.

"Ah, surely he's wrecked;"—but soon she was checked,
By spying a boatie much tossed on the sea,
"But oh! 'tis his spirit," she cried "and does merit
My love in return for his true love to me."—
The time soon elapsed, young Mary was clasped,
Fast unto the bosom of Donald again.—
"Oh, is this my Mary! oh, speak, why so eerie!
For I am thy Donald come safe from the main."

"When waves big were swelling, 'twas sadly repelling,
As hope sunk in sorrow, and tempests did roar,
To mind when we parted ye seemed broken hearted,
I grieved lest I'd meet thee my Mary no more."—
"My Donald ye cheer me,—thank Heav'n now ye're near me,
I long thought ye'd been by some danger o'ercome."
"Be hush'd now my dearie, and dry ev'ry tearie,
I'm safe in thy arms and nae mair will I roam."