HEATHER LAYS. 



The Heather 



O heart of mine, the heather's out, the miles of purple 



heather, 

 And all the world's a-scent with it and dripping 



with the dew 

 There's just a little fragrant breeze as light as thrush's 



feather, 



Come out, my love, where harebells dance, the 

 sunbeams wait for you. 



O, heart of mine, the heather's dead, the miles of pur- 

 ple heather, 

 The blue mist wreathes the mountain's side, the 



storm wind whistles free. 



Ah! was it only yesterday we roamed the hills to- 

 gether? 



My heart is dead as heather bells a-shiver on the 

 lea. 



Pall Mall Gazette. 



230 



