Oh, the summer moon is brightly blowing, The wild birds wake their song, And the streamlet as it softly murmurs, So gently glides along. Where the sweet hedge-rose is blowing, In the woodlands green, There I love to wander, With my heart’s true queen-- My bonny, bonny Jean. CHORUS. Where the sweet hedge-rose is blowing, In the woodlands green, There I love to wander, With my heart’s true queen. Yet ’tis not the rosy tint of summer, Nor the song-birds’ joyous lay, Nor the streamlet’s murmuring music, That makes my heart feel gay; ’Tis her smile that beams upon me, ’Mid each flowery scene, While I fondly wander, With my heart’s true queen, My bonny, bonny Jean. Bonny Jean, your smile is always with me, When absent, love, from thee; Making joy and sunshine round my pathway, Wherever I may be. May they ever beam upon me, In this mortal scene, While I fondly wander With my heart’s true queen, My bonny, bonny Jean. The Death of Annie Laurie. 7 I sung, when in the Crimea, My bonnie Annie’s praise, My heart then turn’d in exile, To sweet Maxwelton’s braes. To sweet Maxwelton’s braes, But sweet nae mair for me, For I hae seen wi’ anguish, Their fairest blossom dee. When war’s alarms were over, I sought my loved ane’s bower, But death’s cauld breath was blighting, Blighting my bonnie flower. Blighting my bonnie flower, And I nae help could gie, Oh, why, when in the battle, Did I na’ fa’ an’ dee. I saw her cheek grow thinner, Yet flush wi’ hectic’s hue, I mark’d her e’e’s strange brightness, Those e’es o’ darkest blue. Those e’es o’ darkest blue, That beam’d sae saft on me, When I cried my Annie Laurie, I can na’ see thee dee. Then calm as to nightly slumber, She sank in my arms to rest, An’ the wild flowers o’ spring now cumber The sod upon her breast. The sod upon her breast, Oh, what wad I na’ gie, If beside my Annie Laurie I could lay down an’ dee. The Yellow Rose of Texas. 8