Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/185
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
At Home.
149
Maisrie looks o’er park an’ hind; But her thochts are far when nicht is fa’ing:—“A waefu’ sough has the dowie wind, That comes to me as an owlet ca’ing ‘Maisrie, Maisrie.’
“Siller is bricht an’ pearls are fine; But the shells o’ Loch Linn to me were dearer:An’ o’ a’ the lilts I hae heard sin syne The fisherman’s voice sang aye the clearer ‘Lost Lady Maisrie!’
“An’ I hae mind o’ great Ben Mhor, That I an’ my sisters climbed thegither;For ae look o’ his drifting hoar My garden of roses fast might wither An’ dee, for Maisrie!
“She sighs frae the kirkyaird by the sea— My mither, that lies by the rowan shady—‘There’s rest, bonnie bairnie, here wi’ me, For the fisher-wife an’ the weary lady, Maisrie, Maisrie!’”
LXXXVII.
At Home.
High in her little rose-clad room Niched in the winding stair,My lady sits and looks abroad On the wind’s thoroughfare.