I marvel, Jeanie Morrison,

Gin I hae been to thee

As closely twined wi' earliest thochts,

As hae been to me?

ye

O, tell me gin their music fills

Thine ear as it does mine!

O, say gin e'er your heart grows grit
Wi' dreamings o' langsyne?

I've wandered east, I've wandered west,

I've borne a weary lot;

But in my wanderings, far or near,

Ye never were forgot.

The fount that first burst frae this heart

Still travels on its way;

And channels deeper as it rins,

The luve o' life's young day.

O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,

Since we were sindered young,

I've never seen your face, nor heard
The music o' your tongue;
But I could hug all wretchedness,
And happy could I die,

Did I but ken your heart still dreamed
O' bygane days and me!

ROBERT GILFILLAN.

1798—1850.

ROBERT GILFILLAN was born in Dunfermline, in Fifeshire. His parents were in a humble rank of life, his father being a small manufac turer. His mother was a woman of strong sense and high intellectual endowments. At the age of thirteen, he was bound as an apprentice in Leith to the trade of a cooper, at which he served the usual term of seven years. On the expiry of that period, he relinquished his trade, which it seems he never liked, and was for three years in a grocery store in Dunfermline. He subsequently went to Edinburgh, where he procured employment in mercantile life, and had opportunities of pursuing his studies under favorable circumstances. He seems to have resided in Edinburgh till his death, and the years spent there he ever characterized as the happiest of his existence. He attempted song writing when a mere boy, before he had removed from his native town, and while his spirits were yet fresh and buoyant.

Gilfillan's biographer says of him:

"He fills a place in Scottish poetry altogether distinct and different from any of the acknowledged masters of Scottish song. He is certainly not so universal as Burns, nor so broad and graphic a delineator of Scottish manners as Ramsay or Hogg, nor is he so keenly alive to the beauties of external nature as Robert Tannahill; but in his own peculiar walk, that of home and the domestic affections, he has shown a command of happy thought and imagery, in which it may be truly said, that he has not been excelled as a poet of nature by any of his predecessors, with the exception only of Burns himself."

O! THE happy days o' youth are fast gaun by,
And age is coming on, wi' its bleak winter sky;

An' whaur shall we shelter frae its storm when they blaw,
When the gladsome days o' youth are flown awa'?

They said that wisdom came wi' manhood's riper years,
But naething did they tell o' its sorrows an' tears:
O! I'd gie a' the wit, gif ony wit be mine,
For ae sunny morning o' bonnie langsyne.

I canna dow but sigh, I canna dow but mourn,

For the blithe happy days that never can return;
When joy was in the heart, an' love was on the tongue,
An' mirth on ilka face, for ilka face was young.

O the bonnie waving broom, whaur aften we did meet,
Wi' its yellow flowers that fell like gowd 'mang our feet;
The bird would stop its sang, but only for a wee,
As we gaed by its nest, 'neath its ain birk tree.

O! the sunny days o' youth, they couldna aye remain,
There was ower meikle joy and ower little pain;
Sae farewell happy days, an' farewell youthfu' glee,

The young may court your smiles, but ye're gane frae me.