I hear them; and heartsick with longing is my soul,

To walk there, to dream there, beneath the sky's blue bowl;
Around me, within me, the weary world made whole.

To talk with the wild brook of all the long ago;
To whisper the wood-wind of things we used to know
When we were old companions, before my heart knew woe.

To walk with the morning and watch its rose unfold;
To drowse with the noontide lulled in its heart of gold;
To lie with the night-time and dream the dreams of old.

To tell to the old trees, and to each listening leaf,
The longing, the yearning, as in my boyhood brief,
The old hope, the old love, would ease me of my grief.

The old lane, the old gate, the old house by the tree,
The wild wood, the wild brook-they will not let me be:
In boyhood I knew them, and still they call to me.
Madison Cowein [1865-

THE AULD HOUSE

Оn, the auld house, the auld house,-
What though the rooms were wee?
Oh, kind hearts were dwelling there,
And bairnies fu' o' glee;

The wild rose and the jessamine
Still hang upon the wa':
How mony cherished memories
Do they sweet flowers reca'!

Oh, the auld laird, the auld laird,
Sae canty, kind, and crouse,-
How mony did he welcome to

His ain wee dear auld house;
And the leddy too, sae genty,

There sheltered Scotland's heir,

And clipped a lock wi' her ain hand,
Frae his lang yellow hair.

The Auld House

The mavis still doth sweetly sing,
The bluebells sweetly blaw,

The bonny Earn's clear winding still,
But the auld house is awa'.

The auld house, the auld house,

Deserted though ye be,

There ne'er can be a new house
Will seem sae fair to me.

Still flourishing the auld pear-tree
The bairnies liked to see;
And oh, how often did they speir
When ripe they a' wad be!
The voices sweet, the wee bit feet
Aye rinnin' here and there,
The merry shout-oh! whiles we greet
To think we'll hear nae mair.

For they are a' wide scattered now;

Some to the Indies gane,

And ane, alas! to her lang hame;
Not here we'll meet again.
The kirkyard, the kirkyard!
Wi' flowers o' every hue,
Sheltered by the holly's shade
An' the dark sombre yew.

The setting sun, the setting sun!
How glorious it gaed doon;

The cloudy splendor raised our hearts

To cloudless skies aboon.

The auld dial, the auld dial!

It tauld how time did pass;

The wintry winds hae dung it doon,

Now hid 'mang weeds and grass.

3037

Carolina Nairne [1766-1845]

THE ROWAN TREE

O ROWAN tree, O rowan tree! thou'lt aye be dear to me!
Intwined thou art wi' mony ties o' hame and infancy.
Thy leaves were aye the first o' spring, thy flowers the sim-
mer's pride;

There wasna sic a bonnie tree in a' the country side.

O rowan tree!

How fair wert thou in simmer time, wi' a' thy clusters white, How rich and gay thy autumn dress, wi' berries red and

bright!

On thy fair stem were mony names which now nae mair I see, But they're engraven on my heart-forgot they ne'er can be! O rowan tree!

We sat aneath thy spreading shade, the bairnies round thee

ran,

They pu'd thy bonnie berries red, and necklaces they strang.
My mother! O I see her still, she smiled our sports to see,
Wi' little Jeanie on her lap, and Jamie at her knee.
O rowan tree!

O there arose my father's prayer, in holy evening's calm; How sweet was then my mother's voice in the Martyr's psalm!

Now a' are gane! we meet nae mair aneath the rowan tree! But hallowed thoughts around thee twine o' hame and infancy,

O rowan tree!

Carolina Nairne [1766–1845]

THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD

WE sat within the farm-house old,
Whose windows, looking o'er the bay,
Gave to the sea-breeze damp and cold
An easy entrance, night and day.

rift-Wood

oned, silent town,

antled fort, mantled fore

quaint and brown.

til the night, the little room; the sight,

roke the gloom.

a vanished scene, e had thought and said, and might have been, hanged, and who was dead;

the heart of friends,

ey feel, with secret pain, ceforth have separate ends, an be one again;

ht swerving of the heart,
s are powerless to express,
still unsaid in part,

in too great excess.

ones in which we spake mething strange, I could but mark; s of memory seemed to make

rnful rustling in the dark.

the words upon our lips,
ddenly, from out the fire
f the wreck of stranded ships,
and then expire.

flames would lea

ods of qidebur

as their splendor flashed and failed, e thought of wrecks upon the main, hips dismasted, that were hailed, nd sent no answer back again.

The windows, rattling in their frames,
The ocean, roaring up the beach,
The gusty blast, the bickering flames,
All mingled vaguely in our speech;

Until they made themselves a part
Of fancies floating through the brain,
The long-lost ventures of the heart,
That send no answers back again.

O flames that glowed! O hearts that yearned!
They were indeed too much akin,

The drift-wood fire without that burned,

The thoughts that burned and glowed within.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882)

MY AIN FIRESIDE

I HAE seen great anes and sat in great ha's,
'Mang lords and fine ladies a' covered wi' braws,
At feasts made for princes wi' princes I've been,
When the grand shine o' splendor has dazzled my een;
But a sight sae delightfu' I trow I ne'er spied

As the bonny blithe blink o' my ain fireside.

My ain fireside, my ain fireside,

O, cheery's the blink o' my ain fireside;

My ain fireside, my ain fireside,

O, there's naught to compare wi' ane's ain fireside.

Ance mair, Gude be thankit, round my ain heartsome ingle Wi' the friends o' my youth I cordially mingle;

Nae forms to compel me to seem wae or glad,

I may laugh when I'm merry, and sigh when I'm sad.
Nae falsehood to dread, and nae malice to fear,
But truth to delight me, and friendship to cheer;
Of a' roads to happiness ever were tried,
There's nane half so sure as ane's ain fireside.
My ain fireside, my ain fireside,

O, there's naught to compare wi' ane's ain fireside.