|
I VE wandered east, I ve wandered west, | |
Through mony a weary way; | |
But never, never can forget | |
The luve o lifes young day! | |
The fire that s blawn on Beltane een | 5 |
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 | 10 |
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 | 15 |
The blithe blinks o langsyne. | |
|
T was then we luvit ilk ither weel, | |
T was then we twa did part; | |
Sweet timesad time! twa bairns at scule, | |
Twa bairns, and but ae heart! | 20 |
T was then we sat on ae laigh bink, | |
To leir ilk ither lear; | |
And tones and looks and smiles were shed, | |
Remembered evermair. | |
|
I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet, | 25 |
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, | 30 |
Thy lips were on thy lesson, but | |
My lesson was in thee. | |
|
O, mind ye how we hung our heads, | |
How cheeks brent red wi shame, | |
Wheneer the scule-weans, laughin, said | 35 |
We cleeked thegither hame? | |
And mind ye o the Saturdays, | |
(The scule then skailt at noon,) | |
When we ran off to speel the braes, | |
The broomy braes o June? | 40 |
|
My head rins round and round about, | |
My heart flows like a sea, | |
As ane by ane the thochts rush back | |
O scule-time, and o thee. | |
O mornin life! O mornin luve! | 45 |
O lichtsome days and lang, | |
When hinnied hopes around our hearts | |
Like simmer blossoms sprang! | |
|
O, mind ye, luve, how aft we left | |
The deavin, dinsome toun, | 50 |
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 | 55 |
The throssil whusslit sweet; | |
|
The throssil whusslit in the woods, | |
The burn sang to the trees, | |
And we, with natures heart in tune, | |
Concerted harmonies; | 60 |
And on the knowe abune the burn, | |
For hours thegither sat | |
In the silentness o joy, till baith | |
Wi very gladness grat. | |
|
Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison, | 65 |
Tears trickled 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, | 70 |
When freely gushed all feelings forth, | |
Unsyllabledunsung! | |
|
I marvel, Jeanie Morrison, | |
Gin I hae been to thee | |
As closely twined wi earliest thochts | 75 |
As ye hae been to me? | |
O, tell me gin their music fills | |
Thine ear as it does mine! | |
O, say gin eer your heart grows grit | |
Wi dreamings o langsyne? | 80 |
|
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 | 85 |
Still travels on its way; | |
And channels deeper, as it rins, | |
The luve o lifes young day. | |
|
O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, | |
Since we were sindered young | 90 |
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 | 95 |
O bygane days and me! | |
|