Verse > Anthologies > Ralph Waldo Emerson, ed. > Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry
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Ralph Waldo Emerson, comp. (1803–1882).  Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry.  1880.
 
Jeanie Morrison
By William Motherwell (1797–1835)
 
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,        5
  And sair and sick I pine,
As Memory idly summons up
  The blythe blinks o’ langsyne.
 
’Twas then we luvit ilk ither weel,
  ’Twas then we twa did part;        10
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,        15
  Remembered evermair.
 
I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet,
  When sitting on that bink,
Cheek touchin’ cheek, loof locked in loof,
  What our wee heads could think!        20
When baith bent down 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,        25
  How cheeks brent red wi’ shame,
Whene’er the schule-weans laughin’ said,
  We cleek’d thegither hame?
And mind ye o’ the Saturdays
  (The schule then skail’t at noon),        30
When we ran aff to speel the braes—
  The broomy braes o’ June?
 
Oh, mind ye, luve, how aft we left
  The deavin’ dinsome toun,
To wander by the green burnside,        35
  And hear its water croon?
The simmer leaves hung ower our heads,
  The flowers burst round our feet,
And in the gloamin’ o’ the wud
  The throssil whusslit sweet.        40
 
The throssil whusslit in the wud,
  The burn sung to the trees,
And we, with Nature’s heart in tune,
  Concerted harmonies;
And on the knowe abune the burn        45
  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,        50
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        55
  O’ bygane days and me!
 
 
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