WILLIAM MOTHERWELL. 159 WILLIAM MOTHERWELL. [1798 - 1835.] JEANIE MORRISON. I'VE wandered east, I've wandered west, The luve o' life's young day! 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, And sair and sick I pine, As memory idly summons up The blithe blinks o' langsyne. "T was then we luvit ilk ither weel, 'T was then we twa did part; O mornin' life! O mornin' luve! O, mind ye, luve, how aft we left The throssil whusslit in the wood, And on the knowe abune the burn Aye, aye, dear Jeanie Morrison, Sweet time-sad time! twa bairns at That was a time, a blessed time, scule, When hearts were fresh and young, When freely gushed all feelings forth, Unsyllabled, unsung! I marvel, Jeanie Morrison, Gin I hae been to thee As closely twined wi' earliest thochts O, tell me gin their music fills Thine ear as it does mine! O, say gin e'er your heart grows grit I've wandered east, I've wandered west, But in my wanderings, far or near, Ye never were forgot. The fount that first burst frae this heart And channels deeper, as it rins, O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, bands; For every fire that fronts the sun, God of the world! the hour must come, W. A. MUHLENBERG. [U. S. A.] I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY. Then the white sails are dashed like foam, I WOULD not live alway: I ask not to Or hurry, trembling, o'er the seas, God of the forest's solemn shade! God of the light and viewless air! God of the fair and open sky! God of the rolling orbs above! LADY DUFFERIN. - WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED. 163 There, too, is the pillow where Christ | The place is little changed, Mary; bowed his head; O, soft be my slumbers on that holy bed! And then the glad morn soon to follow that night, When the sunrise of glory shall burst on my sight, And the full matin-song, as the sleepers arise To shout in the morning, shall peal through the skies. Who, who would live alway, away from his God, Away from yon heaven, that blissful abode, Where the rivers of pleasure flow o'er the bright plains, And the noontide of glory eternally reigns; Where the saints of all ages in harmony meet, Their Saviour and brethren transported to greet, While the anthems of rapture unceasingly roll, And the smile of the Lord is the feast of the soul? That heavenly music! what is it I hear? The notes of the harpers ring sweet on my ear! And see soft unfolding those portals of gold, The King all arrayed in his beauty behold! O, give me, O, give me the wings of a dove! Let me hasten my flight to those mansions above: Ay! 't is now that my soul on swift pinions would soar, And in ecstasy bid earth adieu evermore. LADY DUFFERIN. [1807-1867.] THE IRISH EMIGRANT. I'm sitting on the stile, Mary, On a bright May morning long ago, The corn was springing fresh and green, The day's as bright as then; Tis but a step down yonder lane, With your baby on your breast. I'm very lonely now, Mary, I'm bidding you a long farewell, WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED. [1801-1839.] THE BELLE OF THE BALL. YEARS, years ago, ere yet my dreams Were in my fowling-piece and filly; I saw her at a county ball; There, when the sound of flute and fiddle |