Never again with frowns would I greet you;
Never again to your love be unkind;
Ever with kisses and smiles I would meet you;
Oh, in the days that are gone I was blind!
Oh, I was selfish, and foolish, and fretful,
Now I remember—remember in vain;
But I would never be cross or forgetful,
Could you come back to me, darling, again!
No, you will never come back to me—never!
But I shall come to you, Robin, some day.
Then you will ken a' my loving endeavor,
Just to grow better since you went away.
Yes, you will ken, in that happy to-morrow,
I hae been true to you, darling—sae true!
Asked my heart always, in joy or in sorrow,
"Will it please Robin, the thing that I do?"
Oh, in that wonderfu', wonderfu' meeting,
What shall I say to him? what will he say?
We shallna weary life's story repeating,
Seeing the end o' the sorrowfu' way.
With such a hope, then, how could I say truly,
"Robin, dear Robin, come back unto me!"
Heart, answer the thought sae wild and unruly,
"Robin, dear Robin, I shall come unto thee!"
—Harper's Weekly.
MRS. WIMBUSH'S REVENGE.
(Concluded from last week.)
It was a large picnic party. Mr. Charles Brookshank had drawn Mrs. Wimbush's arm through his own, and strolled away from the rest.
"How delightful it would be if one could know the language of birds, as folks did in the old Hindu fairy tales! Would it not, Mr. Brookshank?"
"My dear Mrs. Wimbush, they do nothing the whole day long but make love and cry 'Sweet, sweet!' I would I were a bird, to make love in music."