The throssil whusslit in the wood,
The burn sang to the trees,
And we wi' Nature's heart in tune,
Concerted harmonies;
And on the knowe[146] abune the burn,
For hours thegither sat:
In the silentness o' joy, till baith
Wi' very, very gladness grat.[147]
Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison,
Tears trinkled 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 feelings forth,
Unsyllabled,—unsung!
I marvel, Jeanie Morrison,
Gin[148] 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[149] grit
Wi' dreamings o' lang syne?
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;
And channels deeper as it runs,
The luve o' life's young day.
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 die,
Did I but ken your heart still dreamed,
O' bygane days and me!
Equally beautiful and still more pathetic, is "My Heid is like to rend, Willie." Indeed, we know of nothing so affecting as the last stanzas of this exquisite ballad. The poor heart-broken girl gives abundant evidence of her profound penitence:
O! dinna mind my words, Willie,
I downa seek to blame,—
But O! it's hard to live, Willie,
And dree a world's shame!
Het tears are hailin' ower your cheek,
And hailin' ower your chin;
Why weep ye sae for worthlessness,
For sorrow and for sin.
I'm weary o' this warld, Willie,
And sick wi' a' I see,—
I canna live as I hae lived,
Or be as I should be.
But fauld unto your heart, Willie,
The heart that still is thine,—
And kiss ance mair the white, white cheek,
Ye said was red lang syne.
A stoun[150] gaes through my heid, Willie,
A sair stoun through my heart,—
O! hand me up, and let me kiss
Thy brow, ere we twa pairt.
Anither, and anither yet!—
How fast my life's strings break!—
Farewell! farewell! through yon kirk-yard
Step lichtly for my sake!
The lav'rock[151] in the lift,[152] Willie,
That lilts[153] far ower our heid,
Will sing the morn as merrilie
Abune the clay-cauld deid;
And this green turf we're sittin' on,
Wi' dew-draps shimmerin' sheen,
Will hap[154] the heart that luvit thee,
As warld has seldom seen.