I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet,

When sitting on that bink,

Cheek touchin' cheek, loof lock'd in loof,
What our wee heads could think?
When baith bent doun ower 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 scule-weans laughin' said,
We cleek'd thegither hame?
And mind ye o' the Saturdays,

(The scule then skail't at noon,) When we ran aff to speel the braesThe broomy braes o' June?

My head rins round and round about,
My heart flows like a sca,

As ane by ane the thochts rush back
O' scule-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 ower our heads,
The flowers burst round our feet,
And in the gloamin' o' the wood,
The throssil whusslit sweet;

JEANIE MORRISON.

The throssil whusslit in the wood,
The burn sang 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.

Aye, aye, 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 grit

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 die,

Did I but ken your heart still dreamed

O' bygane days and me!

THEY COME! THE MERRY SUMMER MONTHS.

THEY come! the merry summer months of Beauty, Song, and Flowers;
They come the gladsome months that bring thick leafiness to bowers.
Up, up, my heart, and walk abroad, fling cark and care aside,
Seek silent hills, or rest thyself where peaceful waters glide;

Or, underneath the shadow vast of patriarchal tree,
Scan through its leaves the cloudless sky in rapt tranquillity.

The grass is soft, its velvet touch is grateful to the hand,
And like the kiss of maiden love, the breeze is sweet and bland;
The daisy and the buttercup are nodding courteously,

It stirs their blood with kindest love, to bless and welcome thee:
And mark how with thine own thin locks,-they now are silvery grey,—
That blissful breeze is wantoning, and whispering "Be gay!"

There is no cloud that sails along the ocean of yon sky,
But hath its own winged mariners to give it melody:
Thou seest their glittering fans outspread all gleaming like red gold;
And hark! with shrill pipe musical, their merry course they hold.

A SOLEMN CONCEIT.

God bless them all, these little ones, who far above this earth,
Can make a scoff of its mean joys, and vent a nobler mirth.

But soft! mine ear upcaught a sound; from yonder wood it came;
The spirit of the dim green glade did breathe his own glad name;—
Yes, it is he! the hermit bird, that apart from all his kind
Slow spells his beads monotonous to the soft western wind;
Cuckoo! Cuckoo! he sings again,-his notes are void of art,
But simplest strains do soonest sound the deep founts of the heart!

Good Lord! it is a gracious boon for thought-crazed wight like me.
To smell again these summer flowers beneath this summer tree!
To suck once more in every breath their little souls away,
And feed my fancy with fond dreams of youth's bright summer day,
When rushing forth like untamed colt, the reckless truant boy
Wandered through green woods all day long, a mighty heart of joy!

I'm sadder now, I have had cause; but O! I'm proud to think
That each pure joy-fount loved of yore, I yet delight to drink ;—
Leaf, blossom, blade, hill, valley, stream, the calm unclouded sky.
Still mingle music in my dreams as in the days gone by.
When summer's loveliness and light fall round me dark and cold,
I'll bear indeed life's heaviest curse,-a heart that hath waxed old!

A SOLEMN CONCEIT.

STATELY trees are growing,

Lusty winds are blowing,

And mighty rivers flowing

On, for ever on.

As stately forms were growing,

As lusty spirits blowing,

As mighty fancies flowing

On, for ever on;

But there has been leave-taking,
Sorrow and heart-breaking,

And a moan, pale Echo's making,
For the gone, for ever gone!

Lovely stars are gleaming,
Bearded lights are streaming,
And glorious suns are beaming
On, for ever on.

As lovely eyes were gleaming,
As wondrous lights were streaming,

As glorious minds were beaming

On, for ever on;—

But there has been soul-sundering,
Wailing, and sad wondering;

For graves grow fat with plundering
The gone, for ever gone!

We see great eagles soaring,
We hear deep oceans roaring,

And sparkling fountains pouring
On, for ever on.

As lofty ones were soaring,

As sonorous voices roaring,

And as sparkling wits were pouring

On, for ever on ;—

But, pinions have been shedding,
And voiceless darkness spreading,
Since a measure Death's been treading
O'er the gone, for ever gone!

Every thing is sundering,

Every one is wondering,

And this huge globe goes thundering

On, for ever on.

But, 'mid this weary sundering,

Heart-breaking and sad wondering,