And on the knowe abune the burn
For hours thegither sat
In the silentness o' joy, till baith
Wi' very gladness grat.

O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,
Since we were sindered young,
I've never seen your face, nor heard
The music o' your tongue;
But I could hug all wretchedness,
And happy could I dee,

Did I but ken your heart still dreamed

O' bygane days and me!

WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.

AULD LANG SYNE.

SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never brought to min'? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days o' lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!

We twa hae run about the braes,

And pu't the gowans fine;

But we've wandered mony a weary foot,

Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!

We twa hae paidl't i' the burn,
Frae mornin' sun till dine;

But seas between us braid hae roared,

Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!

And here's a hand, my trusty fiere,
And gie's a hand o' thine;
And we'll take a right guid willie-
waught,

For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne,

We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne!

AH! County Guy, the hour is nigh,
The sun has left the lea,
The orange-flower perfumes the
bower,

The breeze is on the sea.
The lark, his lay who trilled all day,

Sits hushed his partner nigh; Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour,

But where is County Guy?

The village maid steals through the shade

Her shepherd's suit to hear; To beauty shy, by lattice high, Sings high-born Cavalier; The star of Love, all stars above, Now reigns o'er earth and sky, And high and low the influence know,

But where is County Guy?

RIVER SONG.

SCOTT.

COME to the river's reedy shore,
My maiden, while the skies,
With blushes fit to grace thy cheek,
Wait for the sun's uprise:

There, dancing on the rippling wave,
My boat expectant lies,

And jealous flowers, as thou goest by, Unclose their dewy eyes.

As slowly down the stream we glide, The lilies all unfold

Their leaves, less rosy white than thou,

And virgin hearts of gold;
The gay birds on the meadow elm
Salute thee blithe and bold,
While I sit shy and silent here,
And glow with love untold.

F. B. SANBORN.

SONG FROM JASON.

I KNOW a little garden close
Set thick with lily and red rose,
Where I would wander if I might
From dewy dawn to dewy night,
And have one with me wandering.

And though within it no birds sing, And though no pillared house is there, And though the apple-boughs are bare Of fruit and blossom, would to God Her feet upon the green grass trod, And I beheld them as before.

There comes a murmur from the shore,

And in the place two fair streams are, Drawn from the purple hills afar, Drawn down unto the restless sea; The hills whose flowers ne'er fed the bee,

The shore no ship has ever seen, Still beaten by the billows green, Whose murmur comes unceasingly Unto the place for which I cry.

For which I cry both day and night, For which I let slip all delight, That maketh me both deaf and blind, Careless to win, unskilled to find, And quick to lose what all men seek.

Yet tottering as I am and weak, Still have I left a little breath To seek within the jaws of death An entrance to that happy place, To seek the unforgotten face Once seen, once kissed, once reft

from me

Anigh the murmuring of the sea. WILLIAM MORRIS.

OF A' THE AIRTS.

OF a' the airts the wind can blaw
I dearly like the west;
For there the bonnie lassie lives,
The lassie I lo'e best.

There wild woods grow, and rivers row,

Wi' mony a hill between; Baith day and night my fancy's flight Is ever wi' my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flowers
Sae lovely fresh and fair,
I hear her voice in ilka bird
Wi' music charm the air:

clear;

are pale and

O the maiden sang a song
It would do you good to hear!

Sad before her leaned the boy,
"Goldilocks that I love well,
Happy creature fair and coy,

Think o' me, sweet Amabel."
Goldilocks she shook apart,
Looked with doubtful, doubtful
eyes:

Like a blossom in her heart,
Opened out her first surprise.

As a gloriole sign o' grace,

Goldilocks, ah fall and flow,
On the blooming, childlike face,
Dimple, dimple, come and go.
Give her time: on grass and sky
Let her gaze if she be fain,
As they looked ere he drew nigh,
They will never look again.

Ah! the playtime she has known,
While her goldilocks grew long,
Is it like a nestling flown,

Childhood over like a song?
Yes, the boy may clear his brow,
Though she thinks to say him nay,
When she sighs, "I cannot now.
Come again some other day."
JEAN INGELOW.

O MY LUVE'S LIKE A RED, RED ROSE.

O MY luve's like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June: O my luve's like the melodie,

That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in luve am I: And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, And the rocks melt wi' the sun: I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.
BURNS.

GO, LOVELY ROSE.

Go, lovely rose!

Tell her that wastes her time and

me,

That now she knows,

When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.