Hew Morrison Collection > Bolg solair

A WIND FROM THE WEST.
)0-DAY a v/ind from the West, out over the hills, came blowing,
Ah, how it made dim dreams and memories start ;
And I thought that I smelt m my room the wild thyme
^ growing,
And the scent of the sweet bog-myrtle filled my heart.
Go back, O breath of the hills ! Would that we went together 1
Tell how their lost child fares ;
Whisper among the bracken, and say to the broom and the heather,
That still my heart is theirs.
Steal quietly, as a dream, along the glens that we know,
The glens that shall fade from me only when I lie dying ;
Sink into peace in the quiet place silent and lov/,
Where the dust men know not is lying.
Say still my heart is theirs,
Tell them I never forget
That they never are drowned in my joys, nor crushed in my cares,
That I love them yet.
Yet ! Ah, there's never a heart like them now,
Nor ever can be again ;
None, living or dying, like those dead hearts that are lying
Away in the West in the rain !
LAUCHLAN MACLEAN WATT,
94