THE MAGIC OF THE HEATHER. 



I min' me o' my mountain hame, 



Whaur mony a happy day I've seen ; 

 In memory's hall it's aye the same, 



Tho' trackless ocean lies between. 

 Yet tho' life's flowery morn is gane, 



Its joys are nae fled a'thegither ; 

 Past wi' the moment was the pain 



I fan', to see yer wee bit heather. 



My beatin' heart was filled wi' joy 



And happy lovin' thochts o' you. 

 I bless the hoor, my Hielan' boy 



Has got my heart, an' been sae true. 

 An' when upon life's changefu' road 



We, han' in han', will gae thegither ; 

 When joys may cheer, or sorrows load, 



I'll cherish aye, yer wee bit heather. 



Aye, Willie, I am yours f u' fain ; 



An 'gledly I will be yer wife ; 

 For my puir heart is a' yer ain, 



An' every wish is yours, for life. 

 An' I will wear my silken snood. 



An' trim it wi' nae royal feather; 

 But, laddie, I will aye be prood 



To trig it wi' yer wee bit heather. 



But, laddie, I maun say fareweel; 



But haste ye, Willie, sen' anither; 

 For a' my thochts ye slyly steal, 



Whene'er I see yer wee bit heather. 

 -Louise F. McDonald, in "The Scotsman," Edin- 

 burgh, 1881. 



H5 



