These are mournful, but somewhat hopeful strains; for one who feels that "time has long been knelling, sad one, depart!" must, if not a sceptic, have looked beyond the grave, and descried in better worlds, rest and solace for the aching heart. Here, in his "narrow dwelling," he gently sleeps, while pilgrims from afar drop tears of sympathy upon its "grassy mound."
Motherwell was a man of pure genius. His poems are distinguished for their deep tenderness and exquisite melody. They are gemmed, moreover, with beautiful conceptions, with original and striking expressions. There is nothing, in the whole range of Scottish poetry, except Burns's "Highland Mary," equal in beauty and pathos to
"JEANIE MORRISON."
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[126] e'en,
May weel be black 'gin[127] Yule,[128]
But blacker fa' awaits the heart
When first fond luve grows cule.
O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,
The thochts of bygane years,
Still fling their shadows o'er my path,
And blind my een wi' tears:
They blind my een wi' saut,[129] saut tears,
And sair and sick I pine,
As memory idly summons up
The blithe blinks[130] o' lang syne.
'Twas then we luvit ilk[131] ither weel,
'Twas then we twa did part;
Sweet time—sad time! twa bairns at school,
Twa bairns and but ae[132] heart!
'Twas then we sat on ae laigh[133] bink,
To lier[134] ilk ither lear;
And tones, and looks, and smiles were shed,
Remembered evermair.
I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet,
When sitting on that bink,
Cheek touchin' cheek, loof[135] locked in loof,
What our wee heads could think.
When baith bent down o'er ae braid page
Wi' ae buik on our knee,
Thy lips were on thy lesson, but
My lesson was in thee.
O mind[136] ye how we hung our heads,
How cheeks brent red wi' shame,
Whene'er the schule[137] weans laughin' said,
We cleeked[138] thegither hame?
And mind ye o' the Saturdays,
(The schule then skail't[139] at noon,)
When we ran aff to speel[140] the braes,
The broomy braes o' June?
My heid runs round and round about,
My heart flows like a sea,
As ane by ane the thochts rush back,
O' schule time and o' thee.
O mornin' life! O mornin' luve!
O lichtsome days and lang,
When hinnied[141] hopes around our hearts,
Like simmer blossoms sprang!
O mind ye, luve, how aft we left
The deavin'[142] dinsome[143] toun,
To wander by the green burnside,
And hear its waters croon?[144]]
The simmer leaves hung ower our heads,
The flowers burst round our feet,
And in the gloamin' o' the wood,
The throssil[145] whusslit sweet.