I had o’ ither days,
A sinless dream o’ joy;
It came like sunshine o’er a clud,
Life’s dark spots to destroy.
It came when I was sick at heart,
And sleepless was mine e’e,
When luve was fause, and wily tongue
Turn’d frien’ to enemie.
I thought a saft han’ lay in mine,
A sma’ waist in my arm,
A wee heart beating, throbbing fast,
Wi’ luve an’ life bluid-warm.
A dreamy spell lay on our lips,
A luve-band round our hearts;
But, as by magic, her blue e’en
Tauld ilk thocht that did start.
In quiet streams I’ve seen fair flow’rs,
Hid ‘neath the bank they grew;
Sae in her deep blue e’en I read
Flow’r-.thochts o’ various hue.
“O dinna luik sae kind, Willie,
Or else wi’ joy I’ll dee,
An’ dinna read my heart, Willie,
Wi’ thae lang luiks o’ your eye.
A maiden’s heart should be, Willie,
A sacred thing to men;
Its workin’s in an hour o’ joy
Man-body ne’er can ken.
The flow’r that in the shade wad leeve,
Will wither in the sun—
An’ joy may work on maiden heart
What grief wad ne’er ha’e dune.”
The marrin’ o’ a melody,
The stoppin’ o’ a stream,
A sudden lapse in sunny licht,
The burstin’ o’ a dream!
. . . . .
I woke—and on my glassy e’en
The paley morn-beams shone,—
“Speak on,” I cried, “speak on,” but lo!
The weel-kent voice was gone.