Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heap'd for the belovèd's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
HEW AINSLIE
1792-1878
619. Willie and Helen
'Wharefore sou'd ye talk o' love,
Unless it be to pain us?
Wharefore sou'd ye talk o' love
Whan ye say the sea maun twain us?'
'It's no because my love is light,
Nor for your angry deddy;
It's a' to buy ye pearlins bright,
An' to busk ye like a leddy.'
'O Willy, I can caird an' spin,
Se ne'er can want for cleedin';[1]
An' gin I hae my Willy's heart,
I hae a' the pearls I'm heedin'.
'Will it be time to praise this cheek
Whan years an' tears has blench'd it?
Will it be time to talk o' love
Whan cauld an' care has quench'd it?'
He's laid ae han' about her waist—
The ither's held to heaven;
An' his luik was like the luik o' man
Wha's heart in twa is riven.
- ↑ cleedin'] clothing.
