SONG Awake thee, my Bessy, the morning is fair, The breath of young roses is fresh on the air, The sun has long glanced over mountain and lake -- Then awake from thy slumbers, my Bessy, awake. Oh, come whilst the flowers are still wet with the dew -- I'll gather the fairest, my Bessy, for you; The lark poureth forth his sweet strain for thy sake -- Then awake from thy slumbers, my Bessy, awake. The hare from her soft bed of heather hath gone, The coot to the water already hath flown; There is life on the mountain and joy on the lake -- Then awake from thy slumbers, my Bessy, awake. -- J. J. Callanan (1795-1828)