Then cries of pain, and arms outreaching, - The loud beck drowns them: we walk and weep. V. A yellow moon in splendor drooping, A tired queen with her state oppressed, Low by rushes and sword-grass stooping, Lies she soft on the waves at rest. The desert heavens have felt her sadness; We two walk on in our grassy places, VI. A shady freshness, chafers whirring, A flutter of wings, a fitful stirring, A cloud to the eastward snowy as curds. Bare grassy slopes, where the kids are tethered, A rose-flush tender, a thrill, a quiver, The beck, a river, - with still sleek tide. Broad and white, and polished as silver, And 'plaineth of love's disloyalties. Glitters the dew, and shines the river; And wave their hands for a mute farewell. VII. A braver swell, a swifter sliding; The river hasteth, her banks recede; Stately prows are rising and bowing(Shouts of mariners winnow the air) And level sands for banks endowing The tiny green ribbon that showed so fair. While, O my heart! as white sails shiver, And crowds are passing, and banks stretch wide, How hard to follow, with lips that quiver, That moving speck on the far-off side! Farther, farther - I see it — know it VIII. And yet I know past all doubting, truly, A knowledge greater than grief can dim And as I walk by the vast calm river, The awful river so dread to see, I say, "Thy breadth and thy depth forever Are bridged by his thoughts that cross to me." '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, As memory idly summons up The blithe blinks o' langsyne. 'T was then we luvit ilk ither weel, 'Twas then we twa did part; Sweet time, sad time! twa bairns at scule, 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, Remembered evermair. I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet, When sitting on that bink, Cheek touchin' cheek, loof locked in loof, O, mind ye how we hung our heads, And mind ye o' the Saturdays, (The scule then skail't at noon,) When we ran off to speel the braes, – My head rins round and round about, As ane by ane the thochts rush back O mornin' life! O mornin' luve! O lichtsome days and lang, |