Sweet time-sad time! twa bairns at schule,
Twa bairns, and but ae heart!

"Twas then we sat on ae laigh bink,

To leir ilk ither lear;

And tones, and looks, and smiles were shed,
Remember'd evermair.

I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet,

When sitting on that bink,

Cheek touchin' cheek, loof lock'd 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.

Oh, mind ye how we hung our heads,
How cheeks brent red wi' shame,
Whene'er the schule-weans laughin' said,

We cleek'd thegither hame ?
And mind ye o' the Saturdays

(The schule then skail't at noon),

When we ran aff to speel the braes

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' schule-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!

Oh, mind ye, luve, how aft we left
The deavin' dinsome toun,
To wander by the green burnside,
And hear its water croon ?

The simmer leaves hung ower our heads,
The flowers burst round our feet,
And in the gloamin' o' the wud
The throssil whusslit sweet.

The throssil whusslit in the wud,
The burn sung 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.

Aye, aye, dear Jeanie Morrison,
Tears trinkled down your cheek,
Like dew-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 gush'd all feelings forth.
Unsyllabled-unsung!

I marvel, Jeanie Morrison,

Gin I hae been to thee

As closely twined wi' earliest thochts
As ye hae been to me!

Oh, tell me gin their music fills

Thine ear as it does mine;

Oh, say gin e'er your heart grows grit
Wi' dreamings o' langsyne!

I've wander'd east, I've wander'd 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 life of luve's young day.

Let me sit on your knee, Willie,
Let me shed by your hair,
And look into the face, Willie,
I never shall 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 luve thee sae!

Oh, dinna mind my words, Willie,
1 downa seek to blame;
But, oh, it's hard to live, Willie,

And dree a world's shame!

Het tears are haillin' ower your cheek,
And haillin' ower your chin;
Why weep ye sae for worthlessness,
For sorrow and for sin?

I'm weary o' this world, 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 part.

Anither, and anither yet

How fast my life-strings break!
Fareweel! fareweel! through yon kirkyard
Tread lichtly for my sake.

The lavrock 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, that kiss the chin,
Ye never sall kiss mair!

MAY-MORN SONG.

MOTHERWELL. From "Whistle Binkie."

THE grass is wet with shining dews,
Their silver bells hang on each tree;
While opening flower and bursting bud
Breathe incense forth unceasingly
The mavis pipes in greenwood shaw,
The throstle glads the spreading thorn,
And cheerily the blythesome lark
Salutes the rosy face of morn.

"Tis early prime;

And hark, hark, hark,
His merry chime

Chirrups the lark.

Chirrup, chirrup! he heralds in

The jolly sun with matin hymn.