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High in the air

It's vain to comfort me, Willie,
Chirrups the lark !

Sair grief maun hae its will;
Chirrup! chirrup ! away soars he

But let me rest upon your breist
Bearing to heaven my vows to thee !

To sab and greet my fill :
Let me sit on your knee, Willie,

Let me shed by your hair,

And look into the face, Willie,
THE MIDNIGHT WIND.

I never sall see mair.
Mournfully ! oh, mournfully

I'm sittin' on your knee, Willie, The midnight wind doth sigh,

For the last time in my life. Like some sweet plaintive melody

A puir, heart-broken thing, Willie, Of ages long gone by!

A mither, yet nae wife; It speaks of a tale of other years

Aye, press your hand upon my heart,

And press it mair and mair,
Of hopes that bloomed to die

Or it will burst the silken string
Of sunny smiles that set in tears,
And loves that mouldering lie.

Sae strang is its despair.
Mournfully ! oh, mournfully

A stoun gaes thro' my head, Willie, This midnight wind doth moan,

A sair stoun thro' my heartIt stirs some chord of memory

Oh! haud me up and let me kiss In each dull, heavy tone;

Thy brow ere we twa pairt.

Anither, and anither yet! The voices of the much-loved dead

How fast my lifestrings break; Come floating thereupon

Fareweel ! fareweel ! thro'yon kirkyard All, all my fond heart cherished

Step lichtly for my sake! Ere death had made it lone.

The lay'rock in the lift, Willie, Mournfully ! oh, mournfully

That lilts far ower our head, This midnight wind doth swell

Will sing the morn as merrillie With its quaint, pensive minstrelsy

Above the clay-cauld deid; Hope's passionate farewell,

And this green turf we're sitting on

Wi’ dewdrops shimmerin' sheen, To the dreamy joys of early years,

Will hap the heart that luvit thee
Ere yet grief's canker fell

As warld has seldom seen.
On the heart's bloom - aye, well may tears
Start at that parting knell !

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 MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND, WILLIE.

That fill my yellow hair

That kiss the cheek, and kiss the chin My heid is like to rend, Willie,

Yet never sall kiss mair.
My heart is like to break
I'm wearin' aff my feet, Willie,

I'm dyin, for your sake.

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JEANIE MORRISON.

I'm weary o’ this warld, Willie,

And sick wi' a' I see ;
I canna live as I hae lived,

Or be as I should be.
But fauld unto your heart, Willie,

The heart that still is thine
And kiss ance mair the white, white cheek

Ye suid was red langsyne.

I've wander'd east, I've wander'd 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' bygıne years
Still fling their shadows ower my path,

And blind my een w' tears :
They blind my een with saut, saut tears,

And sair and sick I pine,
As memory idly summons up

The blythe blinks o' langsyne.

() dinna mind my words, Willie,

I downı seek to blame;
But, o ! it's hard to live, Willie,

And dree a cold warld's shame;
Het tears are hailin' o'er your cheek

And hailin' o'er your chin;
Why weep ye sue for worthlessness,

For sorrow and for sin ?

'Twas then we luvit ilk ither weel,

The throssil whusslit in the wud, 'Twas then we twa did part;

The burn sung to the trees, Sweet time — sad time ! twa bairns at schule, And we with Nature's heart in tune Twa bairns, and but ae heart;

Concerted harmonies; 'Twas then we sat on ae laigh bink,

And on the knowe abune the burn
To leir ilk ither lear;

For hours thegither sat
And tones and looks, and smiles were shed, In the silentness o' joy, till baith
Remember'd ever mair.

Wi’ very gladness grat!

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