Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/410

 The trout-burn which soothed with its murmuring sweet, The wild flowers that gleamed on the red deer's retreat!

I look for the mates full of ardour and truth, Whose joys, like my own, were the sunbeams of youth— They passed e'er the morning of hope knew its close— They left me to sleep where our fathers repose!

Where is now the wide hearth with the big faggot's blaze, Where circled the legend and song of old days? The legend's forgotten, the hearth is grown cold, The home of my childhood to strangers is sold!

Like a pilgrim who speeds on a perilous way, I pause, ere I part, oft again to survey Those scenes ever dear to the friends I deplore, Whose feast of young smiles I may never share more!