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High in the air
It's vain to comfort me, Willie,
Sair grief maun hae its will;
But let me rest upon your breist
To sab and greet my fill :
Let me shed by your hair,
And look into the face, Willie,
I never sall see mair.
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,
Or it will burst the silken string
Sae strang is its despair.
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
As warld has seldom seen.
But, oh, remember me, Willie,
On land where'er ye be -
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.
I'm dyin, for your sake.
I'm weary o’ this warld, Willie,
And sick wi' a' I see ;
Or be as I should be.
The heart that still is thine
Ye suid was red langsyne.
I've wander'd east, I've wander'd west,
Through mony a weary way;
The luve o' life's young day !
May weel be black gin Yule :
Where first fond luve grows cule.
The thochts o' bygıne years
And blind my een w' tears :
And sair and sick I pine,
The blythe blinks o' langsyne.
() dinna mind my words, Willie,
I downı seek to blame;
And dree a cold warld's shame;
And hailin' o'er your chin;
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
For hours thegither sat
Wi’ very gladness grat!