I'm weary o' this warld, Willie,
And sick wi' a' I see, I canna live as I ha'e 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 langsyne.
A stoun' gaes through my heid, Willie,
A sair stoun' through my heart; O, haud me up and let me kiss
Thy brow ere we twa pairt. Anither, and anither yet!—
How fast my life-strings break!— Fareweel! fareweel! through yon kirk-yard
Step lichtly for my sake!
The lav'rock in the lift, Willie,
That lifts 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 the heart that luvit thee
As warld has seldom seen.
But O, remember me, Willie,
On land where'er ye be; And O, think on the leal, leal heart,
That ne'er luvit ane but thee! And O, think on the cauld, cauld mools
That file my yellow hair, That kiss the cheek, and kiss the chin
Ye never sall kiss mair!
WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.
Soft on the sunset sky
Bright daylight closes, Leaving, when light doth die,
Pale hues that mingling lie,—
Ashes of roses.
When love's warm sun is set,
Love's brightness closes; Eyes with hot tears are wet,
In hearts there linger yet
Ashes of roses.
ELAINE GOODALE EASTMAN.