How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk!
How rich the hawthorn's blossom!
As, underneath their fragrant shade,
I clasped her to my bosom!
The golden hours, on angel wings,
Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me as light and life
Was my sweet Highland Mary.
Wi' monie a vow, and locked embrace
Our parting was fu' tender';
And, pledging aft to meet again,
We tore ourselves asunder;
But oh! fell death's untimely frost,
That nipt my flower sae early!
Now green's the sod and cauld's the clay,
That wraps my Highland Mary!
O pale, pale now, those rosy lips
I aft hae kissed sae fondly!
And closed for aye the sparkling glance
That dwelt on me sae kindly!
And mouldering now, in silent dust
That heart that lo'ed me dearly!
But still, within my bosom's core,
Shall live my Highland Mary.
_Robert Burns._
* * * * *
CALLING A BOY IN THE MORNING.
Calling a boy up in the morning can hardly be classed under the head of
"_pastimes_," especially if the boy is fond of exercise the day
before.
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