JEANIE MORRISON. '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 sittin' on that bink, Cheek touchin' cheek, loof locked in loof, Thy lips were on thy lesson, but O, mind ye how we hung our heads, We cleeked thegither hame? And mind ye o' the Saturdays, (The scule then skail't at noon,) When we ran off to speel the braes, The broomy braes o' June? My head rins round and round about, As ane by ane the thochts rush back O mornin' life! O mornin' luve! O lichtsome days and lang, When hinnied hopes around our hearts JEANIE MORRISON. O, mind ye, luve, how aft we left The deavin' dinsome toun, To wander by the green burnside, And hear its waters croon? JEANIE MORRISON. The simmer leaves hung ower our heads, The throssil whusslit in the wood, And we, with Nature's heart in tune, And on the knowe abune the burn For hours thegither sat In the silentness o' joy, till baith Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison, 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? O, tell me gin their music fills Thine ear as it does mine! O, say gin e'er your heart grows grit HESTER. I've wandered east, I've wandered west, 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, 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 MOTHERWELI. HESTER. WHEN maidens such as Hester die, A month or more hath she been dead, HESTER. A springy motion in her gait, Of pride and joy no common rate, I know not by what name beside Her parents held the Quaker rule, But she was trained in Nature's school; A waking eye, a prying mind, A heart that stirs, is hard to bind; My sprightly neighbor, gone before When from thy cheerful eyes a ray CHARLES LAMB. |