Why is my spirit sad?
Because no more within my soul there dwell
Thoughts fresh as flowers that fill the mountain dell
With innocent delight;
Because I am aweary of the strife
That with hot fever taints the springs of life,
Making the day seem night!
Why is my spirit sad?
Alas! ye did not know the lost, the dead,
Who loved with me of yore green paths to tread—
The paths of young romance;
Ye never stood with us 'neath summer skies,
Nor saw the glad light of their tender eyes—
The Eden of their glance.
Why is my spirit sad?
Have not the beautiful been ta'en away—
Are not the noble-hearted turn'd to clay—
Wither'd in root and stem?
I see that others, in whose looks are lit
The radiant joys of youth, are round me yet,
But not—but not like them!
I would not be less sad;
My days of mirth are past; droops o'er my brow
The sheaf of care in sickly paleness now;
The present is around me;
Would that the future were both come and gone,
And that I lay where, 'neath a nameless stone,
Crush'd feelings could not wound me!
GEORDIE YOUNG.
I 'll no walk by the kirk, mother,
I 'll no walk by the manse;
I aye meet wi' the minister,
Wha looks at me askance.
What ails ye at the minister?—
A douce and sober lad;
I trow it is na every day
That siclike can be had.
I dinna like his smooth-kaim'd hair,
Nor yet his pawkie face;
I dinna like a preacher, mother,
But in a preaching place.
Then ye 'll gang down by Holylee—
Ye needna look sae scared—
For wha kens but at Holylee
Ye 'll aiblins meet the Laird?