HERMIONE.

Thou hast beauty bright and fair,
Manner noble, aspect free,

Eyes that are untouched by care:
What then do we ask from thee?
Hermione, Hermione?

Thou hast reason quick and strong,
Wit that envious men admire,

And a voice, itself a song!

What then can we still desire?
Hermione, Hermione?

Something thou dost want, O Queen!
(As the gold doth ask alloy,)

Tears, amidst thy laughter seen,
Pity, mingling with thy joy.

This is all we ask, from thee,
Hermione, Hermione!

MARIAN.

Spirit of the summer breeze!
Wherefore sleep'st thou in the trees?
Come, and kiss the maiden rose,
That on Marian's bosom blows!

Come, and fawn about her hair!
Kiss the fringes of her eyes!

Ask her why she looks so fair,

When she heedeth not my sighs?

Tell her, murmuring summer air,
That her beauty 's all untrue;

Tell her, she should not seem fair,
Unless she be gentle too!

WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.

1797-1835.

JEANIE MORRISON.

"Jane

แ

was

MOTHERWELL entered the school of Mr. William Lennie, No. 8 Crichton street, Edinburgh, on the 24th of April, 1805, and left it for the High School, on the 1st of October, 1808. While at the former, he met and fell in love with Jeanie Morrison. (Jeanie) Morrison," says Mr. Lennie, writing to Motherwell's biographer, (1846,) the daughter of one of the 11ost respectable brewers and corn-factors then in Alloa. She came to Edinburgh to finish her education, and was in my school with William Motherwell during the last year of his course. She was about the same age with himself, a pretty girl, and of good capacity. Her hair was of a lightish brown, approaching to fair; her eyes were dark, and had a sweet and gentle expression; her temper was mild, and her manners unassuming. Her dress was also neat and tidy. In winter, she wore a pale-blue pelisse, then the fashionable colour, and a light-coloured beaver with a feather. She made a great impression on young Motherwell, and that it was permanent his beautiful ballad shows. At the end of the season she returned to her parents at Alloa, with whom she resided till the time of her marriage. She is now a widow, with a family of three children, all of whom are grown up, and, I believe, doing well.” “I had the pleasure," the biographer adds in a note, "of a slight acquaintance with this lady in after life, as Mrs. Murdoch. Her husband was a respectable merchant in this city, (Glasgow?) and died about the year 1828. She was, when I knew her, a very elegant woman in her personal appearance, and seemed to have preserved those gentle and agreeable manners for which she had been distinguished in girlhood; but it is proper to remark, that she was wholly unconscious of the ardent interest which she had excited in the mind of her boyish admirer."

Motherwell is said to have made the first draught of "JEANIE MORRISON," in his fourteenth year. The poem as it now stands was published in 1832, in an Edinburgh magazine-TAIT's, I believe. The sum paid for it was indeed munificent-Thirty Shillings!

JEANIE MORRISON.

I've wandered east, I've wandered west,
Through mony a weary way;

But never, never can forget

The luve o' life's young day!

The fire that's blawn on Beltane e'en
May. weel be black gin Yule;
But blacker fa' awaits the heart

Where first fond luve grows cule.

O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,

The thochts o' bygane years

Still fling their shadows ower my path,
And blind my een wi' tears:
They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears,
And sair and sick I pine,

As memory idly summons up

The blithe blinks o' langsyne.

'Twas then we luvit ilk ither weel, "Twas then we twa did part;

Sweet time, sad time! twa bairns at scule, Twa bairns, and but ae heart!

'Twas then we sat on ae laigh bink,

To leir ilk ither lear;

And tones and looks and smiles were shed, Remembered evermair.

I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet,

When sitting on that bink,

Cheek touchin' cheek, loof locked in loof,
What our wee heads could think.
When baith bent down ower ae braid page,

Wi' ae buik on our knee,

Thy lips were on thy lesson, but

My lesson was in thee.

O, mind ye how we hung our heads,
How cheeks brent red wi' shame,
Whene'er the scule-weans laughin' said,
We cleeked thegither hame?
And mind ye o' the Saturdays,

(The scule then skail't at noon) When we ran off to speel the braes, The broomy braes o' June?

My head rins round and round about,
My heart flows like a sea,

As ane by ane the thochts rush back
O' scule-time and o' thee.

O mornin' life! O mornin' luve!
O lichtsome days and lang,
When hinnied hopes around our hearts
Like simmer blossoms sprang!

O, mind ye, luve, how aft we left
The deavin' dinsome toun,

To wander by the green burnside,
And hear its waters croon ?
The simmer leaves hung ower our heads
The flowers burst round our feet,
And in the gloamin o' the wood
The throssil whusslit sweet;

The throssil whusslit in the wood,
The burn sang to the trees,
And we with Nature's heart in tune
Concerted harmonies;

And on the knowe abune the burn,
For hours thegither sat,
In the silentness o' joy, till baith
Wi' very gladness grat

Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison,

Tears trickled doun your check

Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nane
Had ony power to speak!
That was a time, a blesséd time,

When hearts were fresh and young, When freely gushed all feelings forth, Unsyllabled, unsung!

I marvel, Jeanie Morrison,

Gin I hae been to thee

As closely twined wi' earliest thochts
As ye hae been to me?
O, tell me gin their music fills

Thine ear as it does mine!

O, say gin e'er your heart grows grit
Wi' dreamings o' langsyne?

I've wandered east, I've wandered west, I've borne a weary lot;

But in my wanderings, far or near,

Ye never were forgot.

The fount that first burst frae this heart Still travels on its way,

And channels deeper, as it rins,

The luve o' life's young day.

O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,

Since we were sindered young,

I've never seen your face, nor heard
The music o' your tongue;

But I could hug all wretchedness,
And happy could I die,

Did I but ken your heart still dreamed

O' bygane days and me!