Volume Vi Part 11 (1/2)

THE LINNET.

Tuck, tuck, feer--from the green and growing leaves; Ic, ic, ic--from the little song-bird's throat; How the silver chorus weaves in the sun and 'neath the eaves, While from dewy clover fields comes the lowing of the beeves, And the summer in the heavens is afloat!

Wye, wye, chir--'tis the little linnet sings; Weet, weet, weet--how his pipy treble trills!

In his bill and on his wings what a joy the linnet brings, As over all the sunny earth his merry lay he flings, Giving gladness to the music of the rills!

Ic, ic, ir--from a happy heart unbound; Lug, lug, jee--from the dawn till close of day!

There is rapture in the sound as it fills the suns.h.i.+ne round, Till the ploughman's careless whistle, and the shepherd's pipe are drown'd, And the mower sings unheeded 'mong the hay!

Jug, jug, joey--oh, how sweet the linnet's theme!

Peu, peu, poy--is he wooing all the while?

Does he dream he is in heaven, and is telling now his dream, To soothe the heart of pretty girl basking by the stream, Or waiting for her lover at the stile?

Pipe, pipe, chow--will the linnet never weary?

Bel bel, tyr--is he pouring forth his vows?

The maiden lone and dreary may feel her heart grow cheery, Yet none may know the linnet's bliss except his own sweet dearie, With her little household nestled 'mong the boughs!

WILLIAM BROCKIE.

William Brockie was born in the parish of Smailholm, Roxburghs.h.i.+re. He entered on the world of letters by the publication of a small periodical, ent.i.tled _The Galas.h.i.+els Weekly Journal_. He subsequently edited _The Border Watch_, a newspaper originated at Kelso on behalf of the Free Church. This concern proving unfortunate, he obtained, after a short residence at Prestonkirk, East Lothian, the editors.h.i.+p of the _s.h.i.+elds Gazette_. Compelled to relinquish editorial labour from impaired health, Mr Brockie has latterly established a private academy at South s.h.i.+elds, and has qualified himself to impart instruction in fourteen different languages. Besides a number of pamphlets on a variety of subjects, he has published a ”History of South s.h.i.+elds,” and a poem, ent.i.tled, ”The Dusk and the Dawn.”

YE 'LL NEVER GANG BACK TO YER MITHER NAE MAIR.

What ails ye, my la.s.sie, my dawtie, my ain?

I 've gien ye my word, and I 'll gie ye 't again.

There 's naething to fear ye--be lichtsome and cheerie; I 'll never forsake ye, nor leave ye yer lane.

We 're sune to be married--I needna say mair; Our love will be leal, though our livin' be bare; In a house o' our ain we 'll be cantie and fain, An' ye 'll never gang back to yer mither nae mair.

We needna be troubled ere trouble be sprung; The warld 's afore us--we 're puir, but we 're young; An' fate will be kind if we 're willint in mind-- Sae keep up yer heart, la.s.s, and dinna be dung.

Folk a' hae their troubles, and we 'll get our share, But we 'll warsle out through them, and scorn to despair; Sae cheer up yer heart, for we never shall part, An' ye 'll never gang back to yer mither nae mair.

While we live for each other, our lot will be blest; An' though freens sud forget us, they 'll never be miss'd; We 'll sit down at e'en by the ingle sae bien, An' the cares o' the world 'ill a' be dismiss'd.

A couple that strive to be honest and fair May be rich without siller, and guid without lear; Be gentle and true, an' yese never need rue, Nor sigh to win back to yer mither nae mair.