O, WEEL BEFA' THE MAIDEN GAY. For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: "It might have been!” Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies And, in the hereafter, angels may Roll the stone from its grave away! JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. O, WEEL BEFA' THE MAIDEN GAY. O, WEEL befa' the maiden gay, Wha lo'es the modest truth sae weel, Amang sae mony men! 'Tis sweet to hear the music float Alang the gloaming lea; 'Tis sweet to hear the blackbird's note Come pealing frae the tree; O, WEEL BEFA' THE MAIDEN GAY. To see the lambkin's lightsome race, O, had it no' been for the blush Dear Beauty never had been known, An' never had a name; But aye sin' that dear thing o' blame But deadliest far the sacred flame There's beauty in the violet's vest, There's dew within the rose's breast, The sweetest o' them a'; The sun will rise and set again, An' lace wi' burning gowd the main, But lovelier far the bonny thing JAMES HOGG. THE LAND O'THE LEAL. I'm wearin' awa', Jean, Like snaw in a thaw, Jean; I'm wearin' awa' To the Land o' the Leal. There's nae sorrow there, Jean; There's neither cauld nor care, Jean; The day is ever fair In the Land o' the Leal. You've been leal and true, Jean; Your task's ended now, Jean; To the Land o' the Leal. Then dry that tearfu' ee, Jean! To the Land o' the Leal. Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean, She was baith gude and fair, Jean; And we grudged her sair To the Land o' the Leal! But sorrow's sel' wears past, Jean, And joy's a-comin' fast, Jean: The joy that's aye to last, In the Land o' the Leal. THE THREE SONS. A' our friends are gane, Jean ; In the Land o' the Leal. Now, fare ye weel, my ain Jean! We'll meet, and ay' be fain, In the Land o' the Leal. CAROLINE, LADY NAIRN. THE THREE SONS. I HAVE a son, a little son, a boy just five years old, That my child is grave, and wise of heart, beyond his childish years. But loveth yet his mother more, with grateful fervency. But that which others most admire, is the thought which fills his mind, With thoughts about this world of ours, and thoughts about the next. THE THREE SONS. He kneels at his dear mother's knee; she teacheth him to pray; And strange, and sweet, and solemn then are the words which he will say. O, should my gentle child be spared to manhood's years like me, And when I look into his eyes, and stroke his thoughtful brow, I have a son, a second son, a simple child of three; I'll not declare how bright and fair his little features be, How silver sweet those tones of his when he prattles on my knee. I have a son, a third sweet son; his age I cannot tell, |