"The moon had climbed the highest hill That rises o'er the banks of Dee, And from her farthest summit poured Her silver light o'er tower and tree,--
When Mary laid her down to sleep, Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea, And soft and low a voice she heard, Saying, 'Mary, weep no more for me.'
She from her pillow gently raised Her head, to see who there might be; She saw young Sandy shivering stand, With pallid cheek and hollow ee.
'O Mary dear, cold is my clay; It lies beneath the stormy sea; The storm, is past, and I'm at rest; So, Mary, weep no more for me.'
Loud crew the cock; the vision fled; No more young Sandy could she see; But soft a parting whisper said, 'Sweet Mary, weep no more for me.'"
I never saw these lines in print any where; I never knew who wrote them; I had only heard them sung at the fireside when a child, to a tune as dreamy and sweet as themselves; but they rose upon me like an enchantment, as I crossed the Dee, in view of that very German Ocean, famed for its storms and shipwrecks.
In this propitious state, disposed to be pleased with every thing, our hearts responded warmly to the greetings of the many friends who were waiting for us at the station house.
The lord provost received us into his carriage, and as we drove along, pointed out to us the various objects of interest in the beautiful town. Among other things, a fine old bridge across the Dee attracted our particular attention.
We were conducted to the house of Mr. Cruikshank, a Friend, and found waiting for us there the thoughtful hospitality which we had ever experienced in all our stopping-places. A snug little quiet supper was laid out upon the table, of which we partook in haste, as we were informed that the assembly at the hall were waiting to receive us.
There arrived, we found the hall crowded, and with difficulty made our way to the platform. Whether owing to the stimulating effect of the air from the ocean, or to the comparatively social aspect of the scene, or perhaps to both, certain it is, that we enjoyed the meeting with great zest. I was surrounded on the stage with blooming young ladies, one of whom put into my hands a beautiful bouquet, some flowers of which I have now dried in my album. The refreshment tables were adorned with some exquisite wax flowers, the work, as I was afterwards told, of a young lady in the place. One of the designs especially interested me. It was a group of water lilies resting on a mirror, which gave them the appearance of growing in the water.