THE GEAN-TREES

I mind, when I dream at nicht,

Whaur the bonnie Sidlaws stand

Wi’ their feet on the dark'nin’ land

An their heids i’ the licht;

An the thochts o’ youth roll back

Like wreaths frae the hillside track

In the Vale o’ Strathmore;

And the autumn leaves are turnin’

And the flame o’ the gean-trees burnin’

Roond the white hoose door.

Aye me, when spring cam’ green

And May-month decked the shaws

There was scarce a blink o’ the wa's

For the flower o’ the gean;

But when the hills were blue

Ye could see them glintin’ through

An the sun i’ the lift;

An the flower o’ the gean-trees fa'in’

Was like pairls frae the branches snawin’

In a lang white drift.

Thae trees are fair and gay

When May-month's in her prime,

But I'm thrawn wi’ the blasts o’ time

An my heid's white as they;

But an auld man aye thinks lang

O’ the hauchs he played amang

In his braw youth-tide;

An there's ane that aye keeps yearnin’

For a hoose whaur the leaves are turnin’

An the flame o’ the gean-tree burnin’

By the Sidlaws’ side.