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 luve 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 ha'e 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!

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 sapless arms at 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.