Select Poetry.

Thames Star, Volume XV, Issue 4983, 31 December 1884, Page 1

Select Poetry.

'iTHER DAYS.

I canna think o' ither days, • Or sing the songs o 1 gladness; Na merrie thocht can drive awa' The ghastly shades q' Badness. Ilk bird upon the leafy 1 tree, , Ilk moment fleeting fast Ca's to my mind, and jeers me wi* The mem'ries o' tbe past. a ■if

Na mocking bird, like that I hear, Soft warbling on yon tree, In bonuie Scottie sings, and yet It sadly brings to me The bitter thochts o' ither years, When in that anld lang syne, She sang to me the songs so dear, Her little hand in mine.

I ken the flowers are bloomin' now, That bloomed so sweetly then; I ken the pebbly brooklets flow > Still thro' tho silent glen; I ken the birds are building neßfc Amid the yellow whin; It gaes me turn as cauld as death. That all is not as thin.

Th 9 blushing daisy blooms the same, The mossy braes adornin'; " The golden sun, still frae the east, . Proclaims the comin' mornin'; But she, who, in those happy days, Made life so sweet and fair, Novr sleeps beneath the mossy braes, An' left me lone and sair.

The mockin' bird's sweet song to-day, Brocht tear drops to my e'e, With thochts o' 'ither brighter days, For iver gone frae me. We sware our love should last thro* life, By ilka burn and tree; And ere I wad forget my troth, I'd lay me down and dee.