Thou Lingering Star

1.
Thou ling'ring star with less'ning ray,
That lov'st to greet the early morn,
Again thou usher'st in the day
My Mary from my soul was torn.
O Mary, dear departed shade!
Where is thy place of blissful rest?
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid?
Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?
2.
That sacred hour can I forget,
Can I forget the hallow'd grove,
Where by the winding Ayr, we met
To live one day of parting love?
Eternity cannot efface
Those records dear of transports past,
Thy image at our last embrace -
Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!
3.
Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore,
O'erhung with wild woods thickening green;
The fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar
'Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene;
The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,
The birds sang love on every spray,
Till too, too soon, the glowing west
Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.
4.
Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,
And fondly broods with miser-care.
Time but th' impression stronger makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
O Mary, dear departed shade!
Where is thy place of blissful rest?
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid?
Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

You Lingering Star


You lingering star with lessening ray,
That loves to greet the early morn,
Again you ushers in the day
My Mary from my soul was torn.
O Mary, dear departed shade!
Where is your place of blissful rest?
See you your lover lowly laid?
Hear you the groans that rend his breast?

That sacred hour can I forget,
Can I forget the hallowed grove,
Where by the winding Ayr, we met
To live one day of parting love?
Eternity cannot efface
Those records dear of transports past,
Your image at our last embrace -
Ah! little thought we it was our last!

Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore,
Overhung with wild woods thickening green;
The fragrant birch and hawthorn grayish-white
Entwined amorous round the enraptured scene;
The flowers sprang wanton to be pressed,
The birds sang love on every spray,
Till too, too soon, the glowing west
Proclaimed the speed of winged day.

Still over these scenes my memory wakes,
And fondly broods with miser-care.
Time but the impression stronger makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
O Mary, dear departed shade!
Where is your place of blissful rest?
See you your lover lowly laid?
Hear you the groans that rend his breast?