THE MAGIC OF THE HEATHER. 



I see the straw thatch't shieling 



Wi' garden 'fore the door, 

 An' folks wi' hearts aye kindly 



Flit thro' it as of yore ; 

 Wee sprigs o' hillside heather, 



Wee ruby-tinted flower, 

 You've bound me wi' a tether 



A lasting unseen power. 



I'll keep thee as a token 



Frae loved ones owre the sea, 

 Whose message, tho' unspoken, 



Engraved is on thee; 

 I'll prize thee as a treasure 



Frae Scotia's bonnie braes 

 Wee sprigs frae freenship's measure, 



I'll keep thee a' my days. 



-James Broomfield, in "Murmurings from Rugged 

 Waters." 



Scotch Heather 



(Written on receiving a bunch of heather from a lady friend.) 



This bunch of heather from my ain dear land, 

 In fragrant purple bloom held in my hand, 

 Recalls sic memories o' the hills sae grand, 



Whereon it grew. 

 Again, as in the days o' yore, I stand 



Wi' them in view. 

 142 



