Poems and Songs By Robert Gilfillan. Fourth edition. With memoir of the author, and appendix of his latest pieces |
 |
|
|
THE AUTUMN WINDS ARE BLAWING. |
|
|
 | Poems and Songs |  |
225
THE AUTUMN WINDS ARE BLAWING.
The autumn winds are blawing, red leaves are fa'ing,
An' nature is mourning the simmer's decay;
The wee birdies singing, the wee flowerets springing,
Hae tint a' their sangs, an' withered away!
I, too, am mourning, for death has nae returning,
Where are my bairnies, the young an' the gay?
Why should they perish?—the blossoms we cherish—
The beautiful are sleeping cauld in the clay!
An' nature is mourning the simmer's decay;
The wee birdies singing, the wee flowerets springing,
Hae tint a' their sangs, an' withered away!
I, too, am mourning, for death has nae returning,
Where are my bairnies, the young an' the gay?
Why should they perish?—the blossoms we cherish—
The beautiful are sleeping cauld in the clay!
Fair was their morning, their beauty adorning,
The mavis sang sweet at the closing o' day;
Now the winds are raving, the green grass is waving,
O'er the buds o' innocence cauld in the clay!
Ilka night brings sorrow, grief comes ilk morrow—
Should gowden locks fade before the auld an' grey?
But still, still they're sleeping, wi' nae care nor weeping,
The robin sits chirping ower their cauld clay!
The mavis sang sweet at the closing o' day;
Now the winds are raving, the green grass is waving,
O'er the buds o' innocence cauld in the clay!
226
Should gowden locks fade before the auld an' grey?
But still, still they're sleeping, wi' nae care nor weeping,
The robin sits chirping ower their cauld clay!
In loveliness smiling, ilka day beguiling,
In joy and in gladness, time murmured by;
What now were pleasure, wi' a' the warld's treasure?
My heart's in the grave where my fair blossoms lie!
The autumn winds are blawing, red leaves are fa'ing,
Moaning is the gale as it rides on its way;
A wild music's sighing, it seems a voice crying,—
“Happy is that land that knows no decay!”
In joy and in gladness, time murmured by;
What now were pleasure, wi' a' the warld's treasure?
My heart's in the grave where my fair blossoms lie!
The autumn winds are blawing, red leaves are fa'ing,
Moaning is the gale as it rides on its way;
A wild music's sighing, it seems a voice crying,—
“Happy is that land that knows no decay!”
| Poems and Songs | |