Volume Iii Part 16 (1/2)

JEANIE'S GRAVE.

I saw my true-love first on the banks of queenly Tay, Nor did I deem it yielding my trembling heart away; I feasted on her deep, dark eye, and loved it more and more, For, oh! I thought I ne'er had seen a look so kind before!

I heard my true-love sing, and she taught me many a strain, But a voice so sweet, oh! never shall my cold ear hear again.

In all our friendless wanderings--in homeless penury-- Her gentle song and jetty eye were all unchanged to me.

I saw my true-love fade--I heard her latest sigh; I wept no friv'lous weeping when I closed her lightless eye: Far from her native Tay she sleeps, and other waters lave The markless spot where Ury creeps around my Jeanie's grave.

Move noiseless, gentle Ury! around my Jeanie's bed, And I 'll love thee, gentle Ury! where'er my footsteps tread; For sooner shall thy fairy wave return from yonder sea, Than I forget yon lowly grave, and all it hides from me.

THEY SPEAK O' WILES.

AIR--_”Gin a bodie meet a bodie.”_

They speak o' wiles in woman's smiles, An' ruin in her e'e; I ken they bring a pang at whiles That 's unco sair to dree; But mind ye this, the half-ta'en kiss, The first fond fa'in' tear, Is, heaven kens, fu' sweet amends, An' tints o' heaven here.

When two leal hearts in fondness meet, Life's tempests howl in vain; The very tears o' love are sweet When paid with tears again.

Shall hapless prudence shake its pow, Shall cauldrife caution fear, Oh, dinna, dinna droun the lowe, That lichts a heaven here!

What though we 're ca'd a wee before The stale ”three score an' ten,”

When Joy keeks kindly at your door, Aye bid her welcome ben.

About yon blissfu' bowers above Let doubtfu' mortals speir; Sae weel ken we that ”heaven is love,”

Since love makes heaven here.

THE MITHERLESS BAIRN.[30]

When a' ither bairnies are hush'd to their hame By aunty, or cousin, or frecky grand-dame, Wha stands last and lanely, an' naebody carin'?

'Tis the puir doited loonie--the mitherless bairn!

The mitherless bairn gangs to his lane bed, Nane covers his cauld back, or haps his bare head; His wee hackit heelies are hard as the airn, An' litheless the lair o' the mitherless bairn.

Aneath his cauld brow siccan dreams hover there, O' hands that wont kindly to kame his dark hair; But mornin' brings clutches, a' reckless an' stern, That lo'e nae the locks o' the mitherless bairn!

Yon sister that sang o'er his saftly-rock'd bed Now rests in the mools whare her mammie is laid; The father toils sair their wee bannock to earn, An' kens na' the wrangs o' his mitherless bairn.

Her spirit that pa.s.s'd in yon hour o' his birth, Still watches his wearisome wanderings on earth; Recording in heaven the blessings they earn, Wha couthilie deal wi' the mitherless bairn!

Oh! speak him na' harshly--he trembles the while, He bends to your bidding, and blesses your smile; In their dark hour o' anguish, the heartless shall learn That G.o.d deals the blow for the mitherless bairn!

[30] An Inverury correspondent writes: ”Thom gave me the following narrative as to the origin of 'The Mitherless Bairn;' I quote his own words--'When I was livin' in Aberdeen, I was limping roun' the house to my garret, when I heard the greetin' o' a wean. A la.s.sie was thumpin' a bairn, when out cam a big dame, bellowin', ”Ye hussie, will ye kick a mitherless bairn!” I hobbled up the stair, and wrote the sang afore sleepin'.'”