bard may stray,
ahe smoking, dewy wn,
and misty mountain grey;
or, by the reaper's nightly beam,
mild-chequering thro' the trees,
rave to my darkly dashing stream,
hoarse-swelling on the breeze.
let lofty firs, and ashes cool,
my lowly banks o'erspread,
and view, deep-bending in the pool,
their shadow's wat'ry bed:
let fragrant birks, in woodbines drest,
my craggy cliffs adorn;
and, for the little songster's ,
the close embow&# thorn.
so may old scotia's darling hope,
your little angel band
spring, l
The Humble Petition Of Bruar Water(5/6)