Page:The Book of Scottish Song.djvu/331

Rh And my heart, with its pulses of fire and life,

Oh! would it were still as stone!

I am weary, weary of all the strife,

And the selfish world I've known.

I've drunk up bliss from a mantling cup,

When youth and joy were mine;

But the cold black dregs are floating up,

Instead of the laughing wine;

And life hath lost its loveliness,

And youth hath spent its hour,

And pleasure palls like bitterness,

And hope hath not a flower.

And love! was it not a glorious eye

That smiled on my early dream?

It is closed for aye where the long weeds sigh

In the churchyard by the stream:

And fame—oh! mine were gorgeous hopes

Of a flashing and young renown:

But early, early the flower-leaf drops

From the withering seed-cup down.

And beauty! have I not worshipp'd all

Her shining creations well?

The rock—the wood—the waterfall,

Where light or where love might dwell.

But over all, and on my heart

The mildew hath faUen sadly—

I have no spirit, I have no part

In the earth that smiles so gladly!

I only sigh for a quiet bright spot

In the churchyard by the stream,

Whereon the morning sunbeams float,

And the stars at midnight dream:

Where only nature's sounds may wake

The sacred and silent air,

And only her beautiful things may break

Through the long grass gathering there!

[.]

loved of early days!

Where are they?—where?

Not on the shining braes,

The mountains bare;—

Not where the regal streams

Their foam-bells cast—

Where childhood's time of dreams

And sunshine past.

Some in the mart, and some

In stately halls,

With the ancestral gloom

Of ancient walls;

Some where the tempest sweeps

The desert waves;

Some where the myrtle weeps

On Roman graves.

And pale young faces gleam

With solemn eyes;

Like a remember'd dream

The dead arise:

In the red track of war

The restless sweep;

In sunlit graves afar

The loved ones sleep.

The braes are bright with flowers,

The mountain streams

Foam past me in the showers

Of sunny gleams;

But the light hearts that cast

A glory there

In the rejoicing past,

Where are they?—where?

mony a weary day has pass'd,

An' mony a lang an' sleepless night,

Sin' I beheld my sodger last,

Wha left me for the cruel fight.

But though I wept that we maun part,

Though ilka pleasure turn'd to pain,

I'll keep a place within my heart

To welcome Jamie hame again.

He shall nae say that time has changed

The passion I ha'e joy'd to feel,

Nor that ae thought has been estranged

Frae ane whom I ha'e lo'ed sae weel.