dency, and were sure to glitter in the very first blink of the sun. * * * * To us Virtue, in whatever shape, came only in shadow, but even by that we saw her sweet proportions, and sometimes fain would have sought a kind acquaintance with her.—Thinking that the better features of humanity could not be utterly defaced where song and melody were permitted to exist, and that where they were not all crushed, Hope and Mercy might yet bless the spot, some waxed bold, and for a time took leave of those who were called to “sing ayont the moon,” groping amidst the material around and stringing it up, ventured on a home-made lilt.—Short was the search to find a newly kindled love, or some old heart abreaking. Such was aye amongst us and not always unnoticed, nor as ye shall see, unsung.
“It was not enough that we merely chaunted, and listened; but some more ambitious, or idle if ye will, they in time would try a self-conceived song. Just as if some funny little boy, bolder than the rest, would creep into the room where laid Neil Gow’s fiddle, and touch a note or two he could not name. How proud he is! how blest! for he had made a sound, and more, his playmates heard it, faith! Here I will introduce one of these early touches, not for any merit of its own, but it will show that we could sometimes bear and even seek for our minds a short residence, though not elegant at least sinless,—a fleeting visit of healthy things, though small they were in size and few in number. Spray from a gushing “linn,” if it slackened not the thirst, it cooled the brow.
“The following ditty had its foundation in one of those luckless doings which ever and aye follow misguided attachments; and in our abode of freedom these were almost the only kind of attachments known; so they were all on the wrong side of durability or happiness.
| Air—“Lass, gin you lo’e me, tell me noo.” |
| We'll meet in yon wood, ’neath a starless sky, |
| When wrestling leaves forsake ilk tree; |
| We mauna speak mair o’ the days gane by, |
| Nor o’ friends that again we never maun see: |
| Nae weak word o’ mine shall remembrance gie |
| O’ vows that were made and were broken to me: |
| I'll seem in my silence to reckon them dead, |
| A’ wither’d and lost as the leaves that we tread. |
| Alane ye maun meet me, when midnight is near, |
| By yon blighted auld bush that we fatally ken; |
| The voice that allured me, O! let me nae hear, |
| For my heart mauna beat to its music again. |
