As memory idly summons up The blithe blinks o' langsyne. 'T was then we luvit ilk ither weel, 'T was then we twa did part; Sweet time-sad time! twa bairns at scule, Twa bairns, and but ae heart! 'T was 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, What our wee heads could think? When baith bent down ower ae braid page, Wi' ae buik or our knee, Oh, mind ye how we hung our heads, We cleeked thegither hame ? And mind ye o' the Saturdays (The schule 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, My heart flows like a sea, As ane by ane the thochts rush back O' scule-time and o' thee. Oh, mornin' life! oh mornin' love! Oh, lichtsome days and lang! When hinnied hopes around our hearts Like simmer blossoms sprang! Oh, mind ye, luve, how aft we left The simmer leaves hung o'er our heads, The flowers burst round our feet, And in the gloamin' o' the wood The throssil whusslit sweet; The throssil whusslit in the wood, And on the knowe abune the burn Aye, aye, dear Jeanie Morrison, Tears trickle down 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 feelin's 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 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; 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! THEY COME! THE MERRY SUMMER MONTHS. THEY Come! the merry summer months of beauty, song, and flowers; Scan through its leaves the cloudless sky in rapt tranquillity. The grass is soft, its velvet touch is grateful to the hand; It stirs their blood with kindest love, to bless and welcome thee: And mark how with thine own thin locks-they now are silvery grayThat 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; But soft! mine ear upcaught a sound,- from yonder wood it came! LADY CAROLINE NAIRN. I'm wearin' awa', Jean, THE LAND O' THE LEAL. Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, Jean; To the Land o' the Leal. There's nae sorrow there, Jean; I' the Land o' the Leal. The wind blows cool; the scented Now gaze on nature, yet the same; ground Is breathing odors on the gale. Mid yon rich clouds' voluptuous pile, Methinks some spirit of the air Might rest, to gaze below awhile, Then turn to bathe and revel there. The sun breaks forth; from off the scene Its floating veil of mist is flung; Glowing with life, by breezes fanned, Luxuriant, lovely, as she came, Fresh in her youth, from God's own hand. Hear the rich music of that voice, She calls her children to rejoice, Drink in her influence; low-born care, CAROLINE E. S. NORTON. BINGEN ON THE RHINE. A SOLDIER of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears; "Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around, "Tell my mother that her other son shall comfort her old age; My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild; I let them take whate'er they would, but kept my father's sword; |