Уильям Мазервелл (William Motherwell)

Wearie’s Well

IN a saft simmer gloamin’,
  In yon dowie dell,
It was there we twa first met,
  By Wearie’s cauld well.
We sat on the broom bank,
  And looked in the burn,
But sidelang we looked on
  Ilk ither in turn.

The corncraik was chirming
  His sad eerie cry,
And the wee stars were dreaming
  Their path through the sky;
The burn babbled freely
  Its love to ilk flower,
But we heard and we saw naught
  In that blessed hour.

We heard and we saw naught,
  Above or around;
We felt that our luve lived,
  And loathed idle sound.
I gazed on your sweet face
  Till tears filled my e’e,
And they drapt on your wee loof,—
  A warld’s wealth to me.

Now the winter snaw ’s fa’ing
  On bare holm and lea,
And the cauld wind is strippin’
  Ilk leaf aff the tree.
But the snaw fa’s not faster,
  Nor leaf disna part
Sae sune frae the bough, as
  Faith fades in your heart.

You ’ve waled out anither
  Your bridegroom to be;
But can his heart luve sae
  As mine luvit thee?
Ye ’ll get biggings and mailins,
  And mony braw claes;
But they a’ winna buy back
  The peace o’ past days.

Farewell, and forever,
  My first luve and last;
May thy joys be to come,—
  Mine live in the past.
In sorrow and sadness
  This hour fa’s on me;
But light, as thy luve, may
  It fleet over thee!

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