And mind ye o’ the Saturdays,
(The scule then skail’t at noon,)
When we ran off the 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.
O mornin’ life! O mornin’ luve!
O lichtsome days and lang,