| |
| I ’VE wandered east, I ’ve wandered west, | |
| Through mony a weary way; | |
| But never, never can forget | |
| The luve o’ life’s young day! | |
| The fire that ’s blawn on Beltane e’en | 5 |
| May weel be black gin Yule; | |
| But blacker fa’ awaits the heart | |
| Where first fond luve grows cule. | |
| |
| O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, | |
| The thochts o’ bygane years | 10 |
| Still fling their shadows ower my path, | |
| And blind my een wi’ tears: | |
| They blind my een wi’ saut, saut tears, | |
| And sair and sick I pine, | |
| As memory idly summons up | 15 |
| 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! | 20 |
| ’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, | 25 |
| When sitting on that bink, | |
| Cheek touchin’ cheek, loof locked in loof, | |
| What our wee heads could think. | |
| When baith bent doun ower ae braid page, | |
| Wi’ ae buik on our knee, | 30 |
| Thy lips were on thy lesson, but | |
| My lesson was in thee. | |
| |
| O, mind ye how we hung our heads, | |
| How cheeks brent red wi’ shame, | |
| Whene’er the scule-weans, laughin’, said | 35 |
| 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? | 40 |
| |
| 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. | |
| O mornin’ life! O mornin’ luve! | 45 |
| O lichtsome days and lang, | |
| When hinnied hopes around our hearts | |
| Like simmer blossoms sprang! | |
| |
| O, mind ye, luve, how aft we left | |
| The deavin’, dinsome toun, | 50 |
| 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 | 55 |
| The throssil whusslit sweet; | |
| |
| The throssil whusslit in the woods, | |
| The burn sang to the trees,— | |
| And we, with nature’s heart in tune, | |
| Concerted harmonies; | 60 |
| And on the knowe abune the burn, | |
| For hours thegither sat | |
| In the silentness o’ joy, till baith | |
| Wi’ very gladness grat. | |
| |
| Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison, | 65 |
| Tears trickled 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, | 70 |
| When freely gushed all feelings forth, | |
| Unsyllabled—unsung! | |
| |
| I marvel, Jeanie Morrison, | |
| Gin I hae been to thee | |
| As closely twined wi’ earliest thochts | 75 |
| 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? | 80 |
| |
| 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 | 85 |
| 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 | 90 |
| 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 | 95 |
| O’ bygane days and me! | |
| |
