Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. IV. The Nineteenth Century: Wordsworth to Rossetti
William Motherwell (1797–1835)Jeanie Morrison
I
Through mony a weary way;
But never, never can forget
The love 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.
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 than we twa did part;
Sweet time, sad time! twa bairns at schule,
Twa bairns, and but ae heart!
’Twas then we sat on ae high bink,
To leir ilk ither lear:
And tones, and looks, and smiles were shed,
Remembered ever mair.
When sitting on that bink,
Cheek touchin’ cheek, loof locked in loof,
What our wee heads could think.
When baith bent doun ower ae braid page,
Wi’ ae buik on our knee,
Thy lips were on thy lesson, but
My lesson was in thee.
How cheeks brent red wi’ shame,
Whene’er the school-weans laughin’ said,
We cleeked thegither hame?
And mind ye o’ the Saturdays
(The schule then skail’t at noon)
When we ran aft to speel the braes—
The broomy braes o’ June?
My heart flows like a sea,
As ane by ane the thochts rush back
O’ schuletime and o’ thee.
O mornin’ life! O mornin’ luve!
O lichtsome days and lang,
When hinnied hopes around our hearts,
Like summer blossoms sprang!
The deavin’ dinsome town,
To wander by the green burnside,
And hear its water croon.
The summer leaves hung ower our heids,
The flowers burst round our feet,
And in the gloamin’ i’ the wud
The throstle whusslit sweet.
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
In the silentest o’ joy, till baith
Wi’ very gladness grat!
Tears trinkled down 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!
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’ langsyne?
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 long day.
Since we were sindered young,
I ’ve never seen your face, nor heard
The music of 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.