There is no mid-forest laugh, On the fairest time in June Gone the merry morris din; She would weep, and he would craze: So it is: yet let us sing, LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI1 (1820) I Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, The sedge is wither'd from the lake, II Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, So haggard and so woe-begone? The squirrel's granary is full, And the harvest's done. 1 V. note to Eve of St. Agnes, xxxiii, p. 534. To wander by the green burnside, The throssil whusslit sweet. The throssil whusslit in the wud, The burn sung to the trees, And we, with Nature's heart in tune, And on the knowe abune the burn In the silentness o' joy, till baith Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison, That was a time, a blessed time, I marvel, Jeanie Morrison, Gin I hae been to thee As ye hae been to me? As closely twined wi' earliest thochts 75 Oh! tell me gin their music fills 'Twas then we luvit ilk ither weel, Thine ear as it does mine: Twa bairns, and but ae heart! 20 'Twas then we sat on ae laigh bink, I've wandered east, I've wandered west, To leir ilk ither lear;1 I've borne a weary lot: And tones, and looks, and smiles were shed, But in my wanderings, far or near, Remembered evermair. Ye never were forgot. The fount that first burst frae this heart, 85 Still travels on its way; When sitting on that bink, And channels deeper as it rins Cheek touchin' cheek, loof2 locked in loof, The luve o' life's young day. What our wee heads could think! When baith bent doun owre ae braid page, O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, Since we were sindered young, 90 Thy lips were on thy lesson, but I've never seen your face, nor heard My lesson was in thee. Oh, mind ye how we hung our heads, And happy could I dee, How cheeks brent red wi' shame, Whene'er the schule-weans, laughin' said, 35 Did I but ken your heart still dreamed O' bygane days and me! 95 We cleek'd thegither hame? And mind ye o' the Saturdays (The schule then skail't at noon), When we ran off to speel the braesThe broomy braes o' June. 40 Sir Walter Scott 1771-1832 SELECTIONS FROM SCOTT'S JOURNAL (Edinburgh) November 20, 1825.-I have all my life regretted that I did not keep a Journal. I have myself lost recollection of much that was interesting, and I have de5 prived my family and the public of some curious information, by not carrying this resolution into effect. I have bethought me, on seeing lately some volumes of Byron's notes, that he probably had hit upon the right way 10 of keeping such a memorandum-book, by |