Winter forgotten long and summer [rose, When summer brings the lily and the She brings no fear; her very death she brings Hid in her anxious heart, the forge of woes; And dull with fear, no more the mavis sings. But thou! thou diest not, but thy fresh life clings About the fainting autumn's sweet decay, When in the earth the hopeful seed they lay. Ah! life of all the year, why yet do I, Amid thy snowy blossoms' fragrant drift, Ah! through the hush the looked-for midnight clangs! And then, e'en while its last stroke's solemn drone In the cold air by unlit windows hangs, Out break the bells above the year foredone, Change, kindness lost, love left unloved alone; Till their despairing sweetness makes thee deem Thou once wert loved, if but amidst a dream. [love, Oh, thou who clingest still to life and Though naught of good, no God thou mayst discern, Though naught that is, thine utmost woe can move, Though no soul knows wherewith thine heart doth yearn, Yet, since thy weary lips no curse can learn, [away, Cast no least thing thou lovedst once Striving my pleasure from my pain | Since yet, perchance, thine eyes shall Still long for that which never draweth nigh, to sift, see the day. WILLIAM MOTHERWELL. LAST VERSES. [Given to a Friend a day or two before the Writer's Death.] Lay me then gently in my narrow dwelling, Thou gentle heart; WHEN I beneath the cold red earth And though thy bosor should with am sleeping, Life's fever o'er. grief be swelling, Let no tear start: Will there for me be any bright eye It were in vain, ― for Time hath long weeping That I'm no more? Will there be any heart still memory And the small flowers, their buds and blossoms twining, Burst through that clay, Will there be one still on that spot repining Lost hopes all day? When no star twinkles with its eye of glory On that low mound, And wintry storms have, with their ruins hoary, Its loneness crowned, been knelling, "Sad one, depart!" MY HEID IS LIKE To rend, My heid is like to rend, Willie. It's vain to comfort me, Willie, Sair grief maun ha'e its will; But let me rest upon your briest To sab and greet my fill, Let me sit on your knee, Willie, Let me shed by your hair, And look into the face, Wiilie. I never sall see mair! I'm sittin' on your knee, Willie, Will there be then one, versed in Ay, press your hand upon my heart misery's story, Pacing it round? And press it mair and mair; Or it will burst the silken twine, Sae strang is its despair! O, wae's me for the hour, Willie, When we thegither met, A weakness and a wickedness to O, wae's me for the time, Willie, But oh! remember me, Willie, And oh! think on the leal, leal heart, That file my yellow hair, That kiss the cheek, and kiss the They blind my een wi' saut, saut chin Ye never shall kiss mair! tears, And sair and sick I pine, |