Lord Gregory tore his yellow hair, Fair Annie's corpse lay at his feet, Her bonny young son was gone. O cherry, cherry was her cheek, And first he kissed her cherry cheek, "O wae betide my cruel mother! She turned my true love frae my door, "O wae betide my cruel mother, An ill death may she die! She turned fair Annie frae my door, Wha died for love o' me." UNKNOWN. XXXI LOVE ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights, All are but ministers of Love, Oft in my waking dreams do I The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, She lean'd against the armed man, Few sorrows hath she of her own, REESE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY CALIFORNIA |