But I could hug all wretchedness,

And happy could I die,

Did I but ken your heart still dreamed

O' bygane days and me!

V.

MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND, WILLIE.

My heid is like to rend, Willie,

My heart is like to break

I'm wearin' aff my feet, Willie,
I'm dyin' for your sake!
Oh lay your cheek to mine, Willie,

Your hand on my briest-bane-
Oh say ye'll think on me, Willie,
When I am deid and gane!

It's vain to comfort me, Willie,
Sair grief maun hae its will—
But let me rest upon your briest,
To sab and greet my fill.
Let me sit on your knee, Willie,

Let me shed by your hair,
And look into the face, Willie,
I never sall see mair!

I'm sittin' on your knee, Willie,
For the last time in my life-

A puir heart-broken thing, Willie,
A mither, yet nae wife.

Ay, press your hand upon my heart,
And press it mair and mair—

Or it will burst the silken twine

Sae strang is its despair!

Oh wae's me for the hour, Willie,

When we thegither met—
Oh wae's me for the time, Willie,
That our first tryst was set!
Oh wae's me for the loanin' green
Where we were wont to gae-
And wae's me for the destinie,
That gart me love thee sae !

Oh! dinna mind my words, Willie,
I downa seek to blame-
But oh! it's hard to live, Willie,

And dree a warld's shame!

Het tears are hailin' ower your cheek,
And hailin' ower your chin ;

Why weep ye sae for worthlessness,
For sorrow and for sin?

I'm weary o' this warld, Willie,

And sick wi' a' I see

I canna live as I hae lived,

Or be as I should be.

But fauld unto your heart, Willie,

The heart that still is thine

And kiss ance mair the white, white cheek, Ye said was red langsyne.

A stoun' gaes through my heid, Willie,
A sair stoun' through my heart—
Oh! haud me up and let me kiss
Thy brow ere we twa pairt.

Anither, and anither yet!—

How fast my life-strings break! Fareweel! fareweel! through yon kirk-yaird Step lichtly for my sake!

The lav'rock in the lift, Willie,
That lilts far ower our heid,}
Will sing the morn as merrilie
Abune the clay-cauld deid;
And this green turf we're sittin' on,

Wi' dew-draps' shimmerin' sheen,
Will hap the heart that luvit thee
As warld has seldom seen.

But oh! remember me, Willie,
On land where'er ye be—

And oh! think on the leal, leal heart,
That ne'er luvit ane but thee!

And oh! think on the cauld, cauld mools,
That file my yellow hair-

That kiss the cheek, and kiss the chin,
Ye never sall kiss mair!

VI.

THE MADMAN'S LOVE.

Ho! Flesh and Blood! sweet Flesh and Blood As ever strode on earth!

Welcome to Water and to Wood

To all a Madman's mirth.

This tree is mine, this leafless tree
That's writhen o'er the linn ;
The stream is mine that fitfully

Pours forth its sullen din.

Their lord am I ; and still my dream

Is of this Tree-is of that Stream.

The Tree, the Stream-a deadly Twain !

They will not live apart;

The one rolls thundering through my brain,
The other smites my heart :

Ay, this same leafless fire-scathed tree,
That groweth by the rock,
Shakes its old hapless arms to me,

And would my madness mock!
The slaves are saucy-well they know
Good service did they long ago.

I've lived two lives: The first is past

Some hundred years or more;

But still the present is o'ercast

With visionings of yore.

This tree, this rock that's cushioned sweet
With tufts of savoury thyme,

That unseen river which doth greet

Our ears with its rude rhyme,
Were then as now-they form the chain
That links the present with past pain.

Sweet Flesh and Blood! how deadly chill
These milk-white fingers be!

The feathery ribs of ice-bound rill

Seem not so cold to me ;—

But press them on this burning brow

Which glows like molten brass,

"Twill thaw them soon; then thou shalt know How ancient visions pass

Before mine eyes, like shapes of life,

Kindling old loves and deadly strife.

Drink to me first !-nay do not scorn
These sparkling dews of night;
I pledge thee in the silver horn

Of yonder moonlet bright:
'Tis stinted measure now,
but soon

Thy cup shall overflow;

It half was spilled two hours agone,
That little flowers might grow,

And weave for me fine robes of silk;

For which good deeds, stars drop them milk.

Nay, take the horn into thy hand,

The goodly silver horn,

And quaff it off. At my command
Each flower-cup, ere the morn,
Shall brimful be of glittering dews,
And then we'll have large store
Of heaven's own vintage ripe for use,
To pledge our healths thrice o'er ;
So skink the can as maiden free,
Then troll the merry bowl to me !

Hush-drink no more! for now the trees,

In yonder grand old wood,

Burst forth in sinless melodies

To cheer my solitude;

Trees sing thus every night to me,

So mournfully and slow

They think, dear hearts, 'twere well for me,
Could large tears once forth flow

From this hard frozen eye of mine,
As freely as they stream from thine.

Ay, ay, they sing right passing well,
And pleasantly in tune,

To midnight winds a canticle

That floats up to the moon ;
And she goes wandering near and far
Through yonder vaulted skies,
No nook whereof but hath a star

Shed for me from her eyes;—
She knows I cannot weep, but she
Weeps worlds of light for love of me !