A Memory

Here, while the loom of Winter weaves

The shroud of flowers and fountains,

I think of thee and summer eves

Among the Northern mountains.

When thunder tolled the twilight’s close,

And winds the lake were rude on,

And thou wert singing, Ca’ the Yowes,

The bonny yowes of Cluden!

When, close and closer, hushing breath,

Our circle narrowed round thee,

And smiles and tears made up the wreath

Wherewith our silence crowned thee;

And, strangers all, we felt the ties

Of sisters and of brothers;

Ah! whose of all those kindly eyes

Now smile upon another’s?

The sport of Time, who still apart

The waifs of life is flinging;

Oh, nevermore shall heart to heart

Draw nearer for that singing!

Yet when the panes are frosty-starred,

And twilight’s fire is gleaming,

I hear the songs of Scotland’s bard

Sound softly through my dreaming!

A song that lends to winter snows

The glow of summer weather,—

Again I hear thee ca’ the yowes

To Cluden’s hills of heather!