On Esk's old bank the watery willows weep,
Where wife and husband launch'd into the deep;—
And from their cottage sought an early grave,
To end their jarring, in the peaceful wave
Ah, hapless pair! who can withhold the tear,
When he the melancholy place draws near!
The dire event to future times will prove,
The short enjoyment of your wedded love!
How apt are earthly prospects to deceive,
And leave her disappointed sons to grieve!
How oft will trifling things the mind perplex,
Where grace doth not her influences mix!
The morning shines,— to church they haste away,
And noisy guns proclaim the wedding day;
Within three weeks to the dark grave they're borne,
To slumber till the Resurrection morn!
Around, the neighbours mourn their hapless lot,
And weeping children haunt the dreary spot;
The lippering wave, rais'd by the nightly gale,
Tells to the Moon her melancholy tale!