I'd nae envy auld Reekie her splendor and pride.
The song of the mavis should wake me at morn,
And the grey breasted lintie reply from the thorn;
While the clear brook should run in the sun's yellow beam,
And my days glide as calmly along as its stream.

But here, in the city's dull streets, I must live,
Nae Jeannie her arms for my pillow to give;
Nae mavis, nae lintie, to sing from the tree,
Nae streamlet to murmur its music to me.
O better, by far, had I never been born,
Or my head laid in rest in the glen 'neath the thorn;
Since the songs of my birds I no longer can hear,
Nor in slumber recline by the side of my dear.

Now, all that makes life still endured, is the dream,
That comes o'er my soul, of the bird and the stream;
And the love of my Jean--when that vision shall close,
In the silence of death let my ashes repose.
Yet then, even then, my sad spirit will be,
By the side of the brook, 'neath the shade of the tree;
In the arms of my Jeannie, for ne'er can it stay,
From those who in life had endeared it away.

_Nov_. 25. 1827. S.P.J.

* * * * *


ON A SQUINTING POETESS.