My bairn, we aince were bairnies,
  Wee gamesome bairnies twa;
We creepit into the hen-house,
  An' jookit under the straw.

We craw'd like the cock-a-doodles -
  An' to hear us the passing folk
At ilk "kickericoo" wad fancy,
  It-just was the bantam cock.

The kists-in the yaird we papered,
  And made them bonnie and crouse,
An' we dwalt there, we twa thegither -
  The laird had nae brawer house!

An' aften the neebor's auld baudrons
  Look'd in for a mornin' Ca',
We made her our bobs and curtsies,
  And snoovelin' speeches an' a'.

"An' how hae ye been? an' how are ye?"
  Was aye the o'erword when she came;
To mony a queer auld tabby
  Sin' syne hae we said the same. -

Whiles, like auld carles we sat, too,
  And oh! what gran' sense we talk'd then,
An' bemoan'd us, how things were a' better
  In times when oursels were young men.

How love, an' leal hearts, an' devout anes
  Had flown frae the wand clean awa';
How the price coffee stood at was awfu',
  An' gowd no to come by ava'.

They are gane, thae ploys o' my childhood,
  An' a' things are ganging, guid sooth!
The gowd, time itsel', and the warld,
  Love, faith, and leal-hearted truth.

If the little flowers knew how deep
  Is the wound that is in my heart,
Their tears with mine they'd weep,
  For a balm to ease its smart.

If the nightingales knew how ill
  And worn with woe I be,
They would cheerily carol and trill,
  And all to bring joy to me.

If they knew, every golden star,
  The anguish that racks me here,
They would come from their heights afar
  To speak to me words of cheer.

But none of them all can know;
  One only can tell my pain,
And she has herself - oh woe! -
  She has rent my heart in twain.

They have company coming this evening,
  And the house is ablaze with light;
Up yonder a figure in shadow
  Sweeps past by the windows bright.

Thou seest me not, - in the darkness
  I stand here, under thy room, -
Still less canst thou see the darkness
  Is shrouding my heart in gloom.

My dark heart loves thee, adores thee,
  It loves, and it breaks for thee, -
Breaks, quivers, wells out its dear life-blood, -
  But all this thou dost not see!

Years come and go; generations
  Are perishing day by day,
But the love that my heart aches with,
  It never will pass away.

If once, but once, I might see thee,
  And sink on my knees at thy feet,
And, dying there, dying might tell thee,
  "I love thee, I love thee, sweet!"
Blackwood's Magazine.

⁠Dear little teacup,
⁠Oh! my rare wee cup,
Work of Celestials! you must be divine;
⁠Tea no one drank in
⁠Porcelain of Nankin
⁠So fit to rank in
Richer ceramic collections than mine.

⁠Those curious blue marks,
⁠Not sham,. but true marks,
Prove you are nearly five centuries old;
⁠In your young beauty
⁠Perhaps you did brew tea
⁠For the King Chuty,
Robed, like the sun, in a mantle of gold.

⁠Where is his charmer?
⁠Who would dare harm her,
She who ruled over the ruler of men?
⁠But in the places
⁠Which knew her graces
⁠She left no traces,
They have forgotten their fair denizen.

⁠She was not brittle,
⁠Frail perhaps a little,
Why is she missing, and you here to-day?
⁠Say by what token
⁠You are unbroken?
⁠Patent to no ken
Is the distinction, for both are of clay.