Before my vernal thoughts grew sere,

An' drapt frae hope's young tree?

The change mun a' in mortal lie,
For nature wakes wi' spring;

The trees yet wave their foliage high;

The birds yet sweetly sing;

The rivulet yet wanders by,

Along its pebbly way;

The flowers yet claim the rain-bow dye; The sun shines still as gay !

But life wore then a mystic screen
Between it and the eye;

Even as the clouds above are seen

To veil the ambient sky;

Which render'd beauty more sublime,
An' cheer'd the simple heart,

Ere it had been seduced by time,

Or school'd in sinfu' art!

Thus memory shows each happy look,

That cheer'd in early days;

When in the pure an' pearly brook,
The sun look'd down always!

When silver minnows swept amang
The little limpid waves,

An' we wad paddle a' day lang,
Tae ease an' pleasure slaves!

O wae's me for sik days again;
What pleasure wad they gi'e!
But, ah! the wish is a' in vain;
For that can never be!

Although the sun wad smile as bright;

The stars shine forth as clear,

Yet clouded is the soul's young light
By faded hopes an' fear!

Our school-boy days brought wofu' care,
That teased the youthfu' brain;
An' there we first began to share

This world's harassing pain :—

Yet when the tiresome task was done,
Wi' wilder glee we ran;

An' fondly 'neath the noonday sun,

Our sportive plays began.

I'm sitting now in grass-green bower,
That suits my passive song;
Where from the sky a magic-power,
Like glory, pours along!

A rugged cliff hangs o'er my head,

A murmuring rill runs by ;

Birds sing, bees hum, an' blossoms spread, To court Reflection's eye!

An' gaily as the insects dance
In summer's golden ray,

Two cupid-looking children prance

Around in endless play

Their cheerfu' voices fall in joy
Upon my ravish'd ear,

An' tell me I was ance a boy,
Wi' eye an' voice as clear!

O take your sinless joys in pride!

When

ye are

auld like me,

On lower wings, alas! ye'll glide
Alang the flowery lea.—

This is the age o' cloudless mirth,

O' cloudless thought and glee ;

All looks like freedom on the earth,
For your young souls are free!

Ye tell me that I'm sadly chang'd;
My feverish frame grows frail,
An' every spot where once I ranged,
Speaks now anither tale!

The hopes, the joys o' early years

Have vanish'd a' away;

For man seems more allied to tears,

Just as his head grows grey.

But why should age or sickness make

An honest mind a slave?—

Are there not joys tongue cannot speak,

Prepared beyond the grave?

That as this warld's joys depart,

Are drawing still more near;

An' when the pulse forsakes the heart, Are oped to the sincere!

Sae let us spend the present day

As weel as mortals can.

66

Joy is a thing," the learned say, "Shared equally to man."

It is not wealth; it is not power

That crowns us wi' content:

These have their short-lived favouring hour,

But that is the extent!

Yet wae's me! wae's me for the time,

When I was young an' gay!

When heart an' hopes baith had their prime; The world, a summer day!

When carelessly I wander'd glad,

By hill, an' wood, an' glen ;

O wae's my heart! it's grown sae sad,
Sae wae an' worn since then!