Volume Ii Part 111 (2/2)
O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, The thochts o' bygane years Still fling their shadows owre my path, And blind my een wi' tears: They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears; And sair and sick I pine, As Memory idly summons up The blithe 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.
I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet, When sitting on that bink, Cheek touchin' cheek, loof locked in loof, What our wee heads could think!
When baith bent doun owre 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 Sat.u.r.days (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.
Oh, mornin' life! Oh, mornin' luve!
Oh, 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 waters croon?
The simmer leaves hung owre 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.
Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison, Tears trinkled doun 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 gushed 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 great 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 dee, Did I but ken your heart still dreamed O' bygane days and me!
William Motherwell [1797-1835]
THE SEA-LANDS
Would I were on the sea-lands, Where winds know how to sting; And in the rocks at midnight The lost long murmurs sing.
Would I were with my first love To hear the rush and roar Of spume below the doorstep And winds upon the door.
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