98
POEMS.
When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool.
On the oatgrass and the swordgrass, and the bulrush in the pool.
On the oatgrass and the swordgrass, and the bulrush in the pool.
viii.
You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade,
And you'll come sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid.
I shall not forget ye, mother, I shall hear ye when ye pass,
With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass.
You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade,
And you'll come sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid.
I shall not forget ye, mother, I shall hear ye when ye pass,
With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass.
ix.
I have been wild and wayward, but ye'll forgive me now;
You'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek and brow;
Nay—nay, ye must not weep, nor let your grief be wild,
You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child.
I have been wild and wayward, but ye'll forgive me now;
You'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek and brow;
Nay—nay, ye must not weep, nor let your grief be wild,
You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child.
