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True be thy sword, thy friend sincere,
Thy lady constant, kind, and dear,
And lost in love and friendship's smile,
Be memory of the lonely isle.


Song continued.

"But if beneath yon southern sky
A plaided stranger roam,

Whose drooping crest and stifled sigh,
And sunken cheek and heavy eye,
Pine for his Highland home;
Then, warrior, then be thine to show
The care that soothes a wanderer's woe;
Remember then thy hap erewhile
A stranger in the lonely isle.

"Or if on life's uncertain main,
Mishap shall mar thy sail;
If faithful, wise, and brave in vain,
Woe, want, and exile thou sustain
Beneath the fickle gale;

Waste not a sigh on fortune changed,
On thankless courts, or friends estranged,
But come where kindred worth shall smile
To greet thee in the lonely isle."


As died the sounds upon the tide,

The shallop reached the mainland side,
And ere his onward way he took,
The stranger cast a lingering look,
Where easily his eye might reach
The harper on the islet beach,
Reclined against a blighted tree,
As wasted, grey, and worn as he.
To minstrel meditation given,

His reverend brow was raised to heaven,
As from the rising sun to claim
A sparkle of inspiring flame;

His hand, reclined upon the wire.
Seemed watching the awakening fire;
So still he sate, as those who wait
Till judgment speak the doom of fate:
So still, as if no breeze might dare
To lift one lock of hoary hair;
So still as life itself were fled,
In the last sound his harp had sped.

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