CHIMINGS OF THE HEATHER 

 BELLS 



A Little Song 



(From the German of Marie von Ebner-Eschenbach.) 



A little song how can it be 



That it should mean so much to me? 

 What is it then revealing? 



It holds a breath of melody, 

 A touch of gentle harmony, 

 A soul of tender feeling. 



A. M. von Blomberg. 



My Fiddle an' Me 



When amang the crisp heather upon the hill-side, 

 Mine e'e fu' o' rapture, my soul fu' o' pride; 

 The wee heather-lintie an' wild hinny-bee 

 A' join in the strain wi' my fiddle an' me. 



When daunderin' at e'en down the dark dowie dells. 



To cheer the wee gowans, an' charm the wee bells 



The sweet purling rill wimples down to the sea, 



Dancing light to the notes o' my fiddle an' me. 



James Ballantine. 



POETRY, with its refined sentiment and musical 

 utterance, has ever been universally esteemed 

 as voicing the true interpretation of the lan- 

 guage of flowers ; and it is to the poets of Scotland 

 191 



