come again, for of all the kindnesses with which he loads me, I

like his company best.

My heid is like to rend, Willie,

My heart is like to break,-
I'm wearin' aff my feet, Willie,
I'm dying for your sake!
O lay your cheek to mine, Willie,
Your hand on my briest-bane,—
O say ye'll think on me, Willie,
When I am deid and gane!

It's vain to comfort me, Willie,

Sair grief maun hae its will,—
But let me rest upon your briest,
To sob and greet my fill.
Let me sit on your knee, Willie,
Let me shed by your hair,
And look into the face, Willie,
I never sall see mair!

I'm sittin' on your knee, Willie,
For the last time in my life,-
A puir heart-broken thing, Willie,
A mither, yet nae wife.

Ay, press your hand upon my heart,
And press it mair and mair,—
Or it will burst the silken twine,
Sae strong is its despair!

Oh wae's me for the love, Willie,
When we thegither met,-
Oh wae's me for the time, Willie,
That our first tryst was set!
Oh wae's me for the loanin' green
Where we were wont to gae,-
And wae's me for the destinie
That gart me love thee sae!

Oh! dinna mind my words, Willie,
I donna seek to blame,-
But oh it's hard to live, Willie,

And dree a warld's shame!

Het tears are hailin' o'er your cheek
And hailin' o'er your chin;

Why weep ye sae for worthlessness,
For sorrow and for sin ?

I'm weary o' this warld, Willie,
And sick wi' a' I see,-

I canna live as I hae lived,

And be as I should be.

But fauld unto your heart, Willie,

The heart that still is thine,

And kiss once mair the white, white cheek
Ye said was red lang syne.

A stoun' gaes through my heid, Willie,
A sair stoun' through my heart,—

Oh! hånd me up and let me kiss
Thy brow ere we twa pairt.
Anither, and anither yet,

How fast my heart-strings break!
Fareweel! fareweel! through yon kirkyard
Step lichtly for my sake!

The loo'rock in the lift, Willie,
That lilts far ower our heid,

Will sing the morn as merrilie
Abuve the clay-cauld deid;
And this green turf we're sittin' on
Wi' dew-draps skimmerin' sheen,
Will hap the heart that luvit thee
As warld hae seldom seen.

But oh! remember me, Willie,

On land where'er ye be,

And oh! think on the leal, leal heart,
That ne'er luvit ane but thee!

And oh! think on the cauld, cauld mools,
That file my yellow hair,-

That kiss the cheek, and kiss the chin
Ye never sall kiss mair!

The following Cavalier Song was first given by Motherwell as an original manuscript by Lovelace, accidentally discovered on a fly-leaf of his poems. The story found believers. They ought to have seen that the imitation, though very skillful, was too close. Lovelace was the last man in the world to have repeated his own turns of phrase.

A steede! a steede of matchless speed,

A sword of metal keene!

All else to noble heartes is drosse,

All else on earth is meane.

The neighyinge of the war-horse prowde,
The rowlinge of the drum,

The clangor of the trumpet lowde,

Be soundes from heaven that come.

And oh the thundering presse of knightes
When as their war-cryes swell,

May roll from heaven an angel brighte,
And rouse a fiend from hell.

Then mounte! then mounte brave gallants, al. And don your helmes amaine;

Death's couriers, Fame and Honor, call

Us to the field againe.

No shrewish teares shall fill our eye
When the sword-hilt's in our hand,-
Heart whole we'll part, and no whit sighe
For the fayrest of the land;

Let piping swaine and craven wight
Thus weep and puling crye,
Our business is like men to fight,
And Nero-like to die!

JEANIE MORRISON.

I've wandered east, I've wandered west,
Through mony a weary way;

But never, never can forget

The luve o' life's young day!
The fire that's blawn on Beltane e'en
May weel be black gin Yule;
But blacker fa' awaits the heart
Where first fond luve grows cule.

O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,
The thochts o' bygane years

Still fling their shadows ower my path
And blind my een wi' tears:
They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears,
And sair and sick I pine,

As memory idly summons up

The blithe blinks o' langsyne.

'Twas then we luvit ilk ither weel,

'Twas then we twa did part;

Sweet time! sad time! twa bairns at schule,

Twa bairns and but ae heart!

'Twas then we sat on ae laigh bink,

To leir ilk ither lear;

And tones and looks and smiles were shed,

Remembered ever mair.

I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet,
When sitting on that bink,

Cheek touchin' cheek, loop locked in loop,
What our wee heads could think?
When baith ben doun ower ae braid page
Wi' ae buik on our knee,

Thy lips were on thy lesson, but
My lesson was in thee.

Oh mind ye how we hung our heads,
How cheeks brent red wi' shame,
Whene'er the schule-weans laughin' said
We clecked thegither hame ?
And mind ye o' the Saturdays,
(The scule then skail't at noon,)
When we ran off to speel the braes,
The broomy braes o' June?

My head rins round and round about,
My heart flows like a sea,

As ane by ane the thochts rush back
O' schule-time and o' thee.

O mornin' life! O mornin' luve !
O lichtsome days and lang,
When hinnied hopes around our hearts
Like simmer blossoms sprang.

Oh, mind ye, luve, how oft we left
The deavin' dinsome toun,
To wander by the green burnside,
And hear its waters croon ?

The simmer leaves hung ower our heads,

The flowers burst round our feet,

And in the gloamin' o' the wood
The throssil whusslit sweet;

The throssil whusslit in the wood,

The burn sang to the trees,

And we with nature's heart in tune
Concerted harmonies;

And, on the knowe abune the burn,
For hours thegither sat

I' the silentness o' joy, till baith
Wi' very gladness grat.

Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison,
Tears trinkled doun your cheek,
Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nane
Had ony power to speak!

That was a time, a blessed time,

When hearts were fresh and young, When freely gushed all feelings forth Unsyllabled, unsung!

I marvael, Jeanie Morrison,

Gin I hae been to thee

As closely twined wi' earliest thochts
As ye hae been to me?

Oh! tell me gin their music fills
Thine ear as it does mine?

Oh! say gin e'er your heart grows grit
Wi' dreamings o' lang syne?

I've wandered east, I've wandered west, I've borne a weary lot;

But in my wanderings, far or near,

Ye never were forgot.

The fount that first burst frae this heart
Still travels on its way;

And channels deeper, as it rins,
The luve o' life's young day.

Oh 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 die,

Did I but ken your heart still dreamed
O' bygane days and me!