Scadlock was an upright member of society, a sincere friend, a benevolent neighbour, and an intelligent companion. In the performance of his religious duties he was regular and exemplary. Desirious of excelling in conversation, he was prone to evince an undue formality of expression. His poetry, occasionally deficient in power, is uniformly distinguished for smoothness of versification.
Along by Levern stream so clear, When Spring adorns the infant year, And music charms the list'ning ear, I 'll wander with my Mary, My bonny blooming Mary; Not Spring itself to me is dear, When absent from my Mary.
When Summer's sun pours on my head His sultry rays, I 'll seek the shade, Unseen upon a primrose bed I 'll sit with little Mary, My bonny blooming Mary, Where fragrant flowers around are spread, To charm my little Mary.
She 's mild 's the sun through April shower That glances on the leafy bower, She 's sweet as Flora's fav'rite flower, My bonny little Mary, My blooming little Mary; Give me but her, no other dower I 'll ask with little Mary.
Should fickle fortune frown on me, And leave me bare 's the naked tree, Possess'd of her, how rich I 'd be, My lovely little Mary, My bonny blooming Mary; From gloomy care and sorrow free, I 'd ever keep my Mary.
Hark, hark the skylark singing, While the early clouds are bringing Fragrance on their wings; Still, still on high he 's soaring, Through the liquid haze exploring, Fainter now he sings. Where the purple dawn is breaking, Fast approaches morning's ray, From his wings the dew he 's shaking, As he joyful hails the day, While echo, from his slumbers waking, Imitates his lay.
See, see the ruddy morning, With his blushing locks adorning Mountain, wood, and vale; Clear, clear the dew-drop 's glancing, As the rising sun 's advancing O'er the eastern hill; Now the distant summits clearing, As the vapours steal their way, And his heath-clad breast 's appearing, Tinged with Phoebus' golden ray, Far down the glen the blackbird 's cheering Morning with her lay.
Come, then, let us be straying, Where the hazel boughs are playing, O'er yon summits gray; Mild now the breeze is blowing, And the crystal streamlet 's flowing Gently on its way. On its banks the wild rose springing Welcomes in the sunny ray, Wet with dew its head is hinging, Bending low the prickly spray; Then haste, my love, while birds are singing, To the newborn day.