’Twas na the wildfire’s flame that played
  Alang the kirkyaird land,
It was a band o’ bairns that gae’d
  Wi’ lichts in till their hand.

O white they cam’, yon babie thrang,
  A’ silent o’er the sod;
Ye couldna hear their feet amang
  The graves, sae saft they trod.

And aye the can’les flickered pale
  Below the darkened sky,
But the licht was like a broken trail
  When the third wee bairn gae’d by.

For whaur the can’le-flame should be
  Was naither blink nor shine—­
The bairnie turned its face to me
  An’ I kent that it was mine.

An’ O! my broken he’rt was sair,
  I cried, “My ain! my doo’! 
For a’ thae weans the licht burns fair,
  But it winna’ burn for you!”

She smiled to me, my little Jean,
  Said she, “The dule and pain,
O mither! frae your waefu’ een
  They strike on me again: 

“For ither babes the flame leaps bricht
  And fair and braw appears,
But I canna keep my bonnie licht,
  For it’s droukit wi’ your tears!”

There blew across my outstreeked hand
  The white mist o’ her sark,
But I couldna reach yon babie band
  For it faded i’ the dark.

My ain, my dear, your licht shall burn
  Although my een grow blind,
Although they twa to saut should turn
  Wi’ the tears that lie behind.

O Jeanie, on my bended knee
  I’ll pray I may forget,
My grief is a’ that’s left to me,
  But there’s something dearer yet!

THE LAD I’ THE MUNE

I

O gin I lived i’ the gowden mune
  Like the mannie that smiles at me,
I’d sit a’ nicht in my hoose abune
An the wee-bit stars they wad ken me sune,
For I’d sup my brose wi’ a gowden spune
  And they wad come out to see!

II

For weel I ken that the mune’s his ain
  And he is the maister there;
A’ nicht he’s lauchin’, for, fegs, there’s nane
To draw the blind on his windy-pane
And tak’ an’ bed him, to lie his lane
  And pleasure himsel’ nae mair.

III

Says I to Grannie, “Keek up the glen
  Abune by the rodden tree,
There’s a braw lad ‘yont i’ the mune, ye ken.” 
Says she, “Awa’ wi’ ye, bairn, gang ben,
For noo it’s little I fash wi’ men
  An’ it’s less that they fash wi’ me!”

IV

When I’m as big as the tinkler-man
  That sings i’ the loan a’ day,
I’ll bide wi’ him i’ the tinkler-van
Wi’ a wee-bit pot an’ a wee-bit pan;
But I’ll no tell Grannie my bonnie plan,
  For I dinna ken what she’ll say.

V

And, nicht by nicht, we will a’ convene
  And we’ll be a cantie three;
We’ll lauch an’ crack i’ the loanin’ green,
The kindest billies that ever was seen,
The tinkler-man wi’ his twinklin’ een
  And the lad i’ the mune an’ me!