O, what more of the world could one wish for beside, As we gazed on the river unrolled, Till we heard, or we fancied, its musical tide, When it flowed through the gateway of gold ! "Jennie June," then I said, "let us linger no more On the banks of the beautiful river; THE EMIGRANT'S WISH. I WISH we were hame to our ain folk, And the hames are the hames o' our ain folk. We've been wi' the gay, and the gude where we've come, We're courtly wi' many, we 're couthy wi' some; Let the boat be unmoored, and be muffled the But something's still wantin' we never can find oar, And we'll steal into heaven together. If the angel on duty our coming descries, Sin' the day that we left our auld neebors behind. O, I wish we were hame to our ain folk, You have nothing to do but throw off the dis- Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk, Oh how sweetly she spoke, ere she uttered a word, With that blush, partly hers, partly even's, And a tone, like the dream of a song we once heard, As she whispered, "This way is not heaven's: For the River that runs by the realm of the blest Has no song on its ripple, no star on its breast; Oh! that river is nothing like this, For it glides on in shadow beyond the world's west, Till it breaks into beauty and bliss." I am lingering yet, but I linger alone, On the banks of the beautiful river; Where daffin and glee wi' the friendly and free Made our hearts aye sae fond o' our ain folk. Though Spring had its moils, and Summer its toils, And Autumn craved pith ere we gathered its spoils, Yet Winter repaid a' the toil that we took, When ilk ane crawed crouse by his ain ingle nook. O, I wish we were hame to our ain folk, Then I wish we were hame to our ain folk, 'T is the twin of that day, but the wave where it That keep us awa' frae our ain folk. FROM you have I been absent in the spring, Nor did I wonder at the lilies white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; SHAKESPEARE. The seat by the door where our auld faithers sat, To tell a' the news, their views, and a' that, While down by the kailyard the burnie rowed clear, 'T was mair to my liking than aught that is here. Then I wish we were hame to our ain folk, And the graves are the graves o' our ain folk. gray; And, tho' in this world our ain still we miss, We'll meet them at last in a world o' bliss. And then we'll be hame to our ain folk, ANONYMOUS. Swallows will flit round the desolate ruin, Smiles coming seldom, but childlike and simple, You have been glad when you knew I was glad- Dear, are you sad now to hear I am saddened? Come to me, dear, ere I die of my sorrow, With a song on your lip and a smile on your Figure that moves like a song through the even; Come, for my heart in your absence is weary, other; Haste, for my spirit is sickened and dreary, JOSEPH BRENNAN. |