'T was then we sat on ae laigh bink,

To leir ilk ither lear ; And tones and looks and smiles were shed,

Remembered evermair.

As ye

I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet,

When sitting on that bink, Check touchin' cheek, loof locked in loof,

What our wee heads could think.
When baith bent doun ower ae braid page,

Wi' ae buik on our knee,
Thy lips were on thy lesson, but

My lesson was in thee.

I marvel, Jeanie Morrison,

Gin I hae been to thee
As closely twined wi' earliest thochts

hae been to me?
O, tell me gin their music fills

Thine ear as it does mine!
O, say gin e'er your heart grows grit

Wi' dreamings o' langsyne ?
I've wandered east, I've wandered west.

I've borne a weary lot ;
But in my wanderings, far or near,

Ye never were forgot.
The fount that first burst frae this heart

Still travels on its way ;
And channels deeper, as it rins,

The luve o' life's young day.
O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,

Since we were sindered young
I've never seen your face nor heard

The music o' your tongue ;
But I could hug all wretchedness,

And happy could I die,
Did I but ken your heart still dreamed

O' bygone days and me!

O, mind ye how we hung our heads,

How cheeks brent red wi' shame, Whene'er the scule-weans, laughin', said

We cleeked thegither hame ? And mind ye o' the Saturdays,

(The scule then skail't at noon,) When we ran off to speel the bracs, –

The broomy braes o' June ?


My head rins round and round about,

My heart flows like a sea,
As ane by ane the thochts rush back

O' scule-time, and o' thee.
O mornin' life! O mornin' luve !

O lichtsome days and lang,
When hinnied hopes around our hearts

Like simmer blossoms sprang !

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0, mind ye, luve, how aft we left

The deavin' dinsome toun,
To wander by the green burnside,

And hear its waters croon ?
The simmer leaves hung ower our heads,

The flowers burst round our feet, And in the gloamin' o' the wood

The throssil whusslit sweet ;

THERE lived a singer in France of old

By the tideless, dolorous, midland sea.
In a land of sand and ruin and gold

There shone one woman, and none but she.
And finding life for her love's sake fail,
Being fain to see her, he bade set sail,
Touched land, and saw her as life grew cold,

And praised God, seeing; and so died he.
Died, praising God for his gift and grace :

For she bowed down to him weeping, and said, “Live”; and her tears were shed on his face

Or ever the life in his face was shed. The sharp tears fell through her hair, and stung Once, and her close lips touched him and clung Once, and grew one with his lips for a space ;

And so drew back, and the man was dead.

The throssil whusslit in the wood,

The burn sang to the trees,
And we, with nature's heart in tune,

Concerted harmonies ;
And on the knowe abune the burn

For hours thegither sat
In the silentness o' joy, till baith

Wi' very gladness grat.

Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison,
Tears trickled doun


cheek Like dow-beads on a rose, yet nane

Had ony power to speak ! That was a time, a blessed time,

When hearts were fresh and young, When freely gushed all feelings forth,

Unsyllabled — unsung!

O brother, the gods were good to you.

Sleep, and be glad while the world endures. Be well content as the years wear through ;

Give thanks for life, and the loves and lures ; Give thanks for life, O brother, and death, For the sweet last sound of her feet, her breath, For gifts she gave you, gracious and few,

Tears and kisses, that lady of yours.

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Willie, all to you and me

How shall I watch for thee, when fears grow Is that spot, whate'er it be,

stronger, Where he stands — no other word

As night grows dark and darker on the hill ! StandsGod sure the child's prayers heard— How shall I weep, when I can watch no longer ! Near the Alma River.

Ah! art thou absent, art thou absent still ? Willie, listen to the bells

Yet I should grieve not, though the eye that seeth Ringing in the town to-day ; That's for victory. No knell swells

Gazeth through tears that makeitssplendor dull; For the many swept away,

For oh! I sometimes fear when thou art with me, Hundreds, thousands. Let us weep,

My cup of happiness is all too full.
We, who need not, -just to keep
Reason clear in thought and brain

Haste, haste thee home to thy mountain dwelling, Till the morning comes again ;

Haste, as a bird unto its peaceful nest! Till the third dread morning tell

Haste, as a skiff, through tempests wide and Who they were that fought and — fell


Flies to its haven of securest rest !
By the Alma River.
Come, - we 'll lay us down, my child ;

Poor the bed is, --- poor and hard ;
But thy father, far exiled,

Sleeps upon the open sward,

What shall I do with all the days and hours Dreaming of us two at home ;

That must be counted ere I see thy face? Or, beneath the starry dome,

How shall I charm the interval that lowers Digs out trenches in the dark,

Between this time and that sweet time of grace ? Where he buries - Willie, mark ! Where he buries those who died

Shall I in slumber steep each weary sense,
Fighting - fighting at his side-

Weary with longing ? Shall I flee away
By the Alma River.

Into past days, and with some fond pretence Willie, Willie, go to sleep ;

Cheat myself to forget the present day?
God will help us, O my boy!

Shall love for thee lay on my soul the sin
He will make the dull hours creep

Of casting from me God's great gift of time ? Faster, and send news of joy ;

Shall I, these mists of memory locked within, When I need not shrink to meet

Leave and forget life's purposes sublime ? Those great placards in the street, That for weeks will ghastly stare

O, how or by what means may I contrive In some eyes — child, say that

To bring the hour that brings thee back more

prayer Once again, a different one,

near ?

How Say, “O God! Thy will be done

may I teach my drooping hope to live By the Alma River.'

Until that blessed time, and thou art here? I 'll tell thee ; for thy sake I will lay hold

Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee,

In worthy deeds, each moment that is told THE WIFE TO HER HUSBAND.

While thou, beloved one ! art far from me. LINGER not long. Home is not home without thee: For thee I will arouse my thoughts to try Its dearest tokens do but make me mourn.

All heavenward flights, all high and holy strains; 0, let its memory, like a chain about thee,

For thy dear sake I will walk patiently Gently compel and hasten thy return !

Through these long hours, nor call their min. Linger not long. Though crowds should woo thy utes pains. staying,

I will this dreary blank of absence make Bethink thee, can the mirth of thy friends,

A noble task-time ; and will therein strive though dear,

To follow excellence, and to o'ertake Compensate for the grief thy long delaying

More good than I have won since yet I live. Costs the fond heart that sighs to have thee here?

So may this doomed time build up in me Linger not long. How shall I watch thy coming,

A thousand graces, which shall thus be thine ; As evening shadows stretch o'er moor and dell ; | So may my love and longing hallowed be, When the wild bee hath ceased her busy humming,

And thy dear thought an influence divine. And silence hangs on all things like a spell i


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Young Jamie loo'd me weel, and socht me for his

bride ; But, saving a croun, he had naething else beside. To mak that croun a pund, young Jamie gaeil te

sea ; And the croun and the pund were baith for me :

For aught that ever I could read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth :
But, cither it was different in blood,
Or else misgrailed in respect of years ;
Or else it stood upon the choice of friends;
Or, if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, death, or sickness did lay siege to it,
Making it momentary as a sound,
Swift as a shadow, short as any Iream ;
Brief as the lightning in the collied night,
That, in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and carth,
And ere a man hath power to


Behold !
The jaws of darkness do devour it up :
So quick bright things come to confusion.

He hadna been awa a week but only twa,
When my mother she fell sick, and the cow was

stown awa ;
My father brak his arm, and young Jamie at the

And auld Robin Gray cam' a-courtin' me.

My father cou'dna work, and my mother cou'dna

spin ; I toiled day and nicht, but their bread I cou'dna

win; Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, wi' tears

in his ee, Said, “Jenny, for their sakes, O marry me!"



My heart it said nay, for I looked for Jamie

back; YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,

But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ?

wrack; How can ye chant, ye little birds,

The ship it was a wrack! Why didna Jamie And I sae weary, fu'o' care ?

dee? Thou 'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird, Or why do I live to say, Wae 's me?

That wantons through the flowering thorn ; Thou minds me o' departed joys,

My father argued sair, my mother didna speak, Departed — never to return.

But she lookit in my face till my heart was like

to break; Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon,

Sae they gied him my hand, though my heart

was in the sea ; To see the rose and woodbine twine; And ilka bird sang o'its luve,

And auld Robin Gray was gudeman to me. And, fondly, sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pou'd a rose,

I hadna been a wife, a week but only four, Fu' sweet upon its thorny trec ;

When, sitting sae mournfully at the door, And my fause luver stole my rose,

I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I cou'dna think it he,

Till he said, “I'm come back for to marry thee !" But ah ! he left the thorn wi' me.

O sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say ;
We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves away :

I wish I were dead, but I'm no like to dee ;

And why do I live to say, Wae's me? When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin ; hame,

I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin ; And a' the warld to sleep are gane ;

But I 'll do my best a gude wife to be, The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my ee,

For auld Robin Gray is kind unto me. When my gudeman lies sound by me.



men :


nane :



Beside the sceptre. Thus I made my home

In the soft palace of a fairy Future ! There's auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, My father died ; and I, the peasant-born, He's the king o' guid fellows and wale of auld Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise

Out of the prison of my mean estate ; He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, And, with such jewels as the exploring mind And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine. Brings from the caves of Knowledge, buy my She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May; From those twin jailers of the daring heart, She's sweet as the ev'ning amang the new hay ; Low birth and iron fortune. Thy bright image, As blythe and as artless as the launbs on the lea,

Glassed in my soul, took all the hues of glory, And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e.

And lured me on to those inspiring toils But 0, she's an heiress, auld Robin 's a laird,

By which man masters men! For thee, I grew And my daddie has naught but a cot-house and A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages ! yard;

For thee, I sought to borrow from each Grace A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed,

And every Muse such attributes as lend The wounds I must hide that will soon be my And passion taught me poesy,

Ideal charms to Love. I thought of thee,

of thee, dead.

And on the painter's canvas grew the life The day comes to me, but delight brings me of beauty ! Art became the shadow

Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes ! The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane ; Men called me vain, — some, mad, — I heeded I wander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist,

for it was sweet, And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. But still toiled on, hoped on,

If not to win, to feel more worthy, thee !
O, had she but been of a lower degree,
I then might hae hoped she wad smiled upon At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pour
me !

The thoughts that burst their channels into song, 0, how past describing had then been my bliss, And sent them to thee, such a tribute, lady, As now my distraction no words can express ! As beauty rarely scorns, even from the meanest.

The name — appended by the burning heart
That longed to show its idol what bright things

It had created — yea, the enthusiast's name, CLAUDE MELNOTTE'S APOLOGY AND That should have been thy triumph, was thy DEFENCE.


That very hour -- when passion, turned to wrath, Pauline, by pride Resembled hatred most ; when thy disdain Angels have fallen ere thy time; by pride, Made my whole soul a chaos — in that hour That sole alloy of thy most lovely mould The tempters found me a revengeful tool The evil spirit of a bitter love

For their revenge! Thou hadst trampled on the And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee.

From my first years my soul was filled with thee; It turned, and stung thee !
I saw thee midst the flowers the lowly boy
Tended, unmarked by thee, – a spirit of bloom,
And joy and freshness, as spring itself
Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape !
I saw thee, and the passionate heart of man

Entered the breast of the wild-dreaming boy ;
And from that hour I grew — what to the last It was the autumn of the year ;
I shall be — thine adorer ! Well, this love,

The strawberry-leaves were red and sear;
Vain, frantic, — guilty, if thou wilt, became October's airs were fresh and chill,
A fountain of ambition and bright hope ;

When, pausing on the windy hill, I thought of tales that by the winter hearth

The hill that overlooks the sea, Old gossips tell, -- how maidens sprung from You talked confidingly to me, kings

Me whom your keen, artistic sight Have stooped from their high sphere; how Love, Has not yet learned to read aright, like Death,

Since I have veiled my heart from you, Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook And loved you better than you knew.



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