Letter to R.A. Smith
Mr R.A. Smith Paisley
_____________________________________ Song,
By J. King. _____________ Air
––– “The Rosy Brier.” The morning tremble’s
o’er the deep, The mountain’s cloudy
head is grey, And bright the dewy
gems o’ morn Appear upon the hazle
spray; The lintwhite cheers
the whinny knowe, The mavis sings adown
the grove, And sweet the
lavrock’s carrols rise -- The
soul-delighting songs of love. But weary, weary are
my nights, And fu’ o’ sorrow are
my days, Wi’ waefu’ heart I
view the morn, And joyless see the
e’ening rays: Nae sang can sooth a
wretch forlorn, Nor wintry blast call
forth the rose, Then, to departed Peace I’ll sing A requiem while the
tempest blows. ______________________________ Friend Robert, According to promise
I have embraced my first leizure hour to transcribe you the preceding articles. Yours [obscured] Robt
Tannahill Copy Text: MS Robertson 1/23 Previous Publications: Notes: |