JEANIE MORRISON. O DEAR, dear Jeanie Morrison, And blind my een wi' tears! The blythe blinks o' langsyne. 'Twas then we luvit ilk ither weel, 'Twas then we twa did part; 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, Remembered evermair. An! County Guy, the hour is nigh, The breeze is on the sea. But where is County Guy? The village maid steals through the shade Her shepherd's suit to hear; To beauty shy, by lattice high, Sings high-born Cavalier; The star of Love, all stars above, Now reigns o'er earth and sky, And high and low the influence know, But where is County Guy? RIVER SONG. SCOTT. COME to the river's reedy shore, There, dancing on the rippling wave, And jealous flowers, as thou goest by, Unclose their dewy eyes. As slowly down the stream we glide, The lilies all unfold Their leaves, less rosy white than thou, And virgin hearts of gold; F. B. SANBORN. SONG FROM JASON. I KNOW a little garden close Set thick with lily and red rose, Where I would wander if I might From dewy dawn to dewy night, And have one with me wandering. And though within it no birds sing, And though no pillared house is there, And though the apple-boughs are bare Of fruit and blossom, would to God Her feet upon the green grass trod, And I beheld them as before. There comes a murmur from the shore, And in the place two fair streams are, Drawn from the purple hills afar, Drawn down unto the restless sea; The hills whose flowers ne'er fed the bee, The shore no ship has ever seen, Still beaten by the billows green. Whose murmur comes unceasingly Unto the place for which I ery. For which I cry both day and night, For which I let slip all delight, That maketh me both deaf and blind, Careless to win, unskilled to find, And quick to lose what all men seek. Yet tottering as I am and weak, Still have I left a little breath To seek within the jaws of death An entrance to that happy place, To seek the unforgotten face Once seen, once kissed, once reft from me Anigh the murmuring of the sea. WILLIAM MORRIS. OF A' THE AIRTS. OF a' the airts the wind can blaw Wi' mony a hill between; I see her in the dewy flowers Sae lovely fresh and fair, I hear her voice in ilka bird Wi' music charm the air: |