The Lost Licht (A Perthshire Legend)

The weary, weary days gang by,         The weary nichts they fa',     I mauna rest, I canna lie         Since my ain bairn's awa'.     The soughing o' the springtide breeze         Abune her heid blaws sweet,     There's nests amang the kirkyaird trees         And gowans at her feet.     She gae'd awa' when winds were hie,         When the deein' year was cauld,     An noo the young year seems to me         A waur ane nor the auld.     And, bedded, 'twixt the nicht an' day,         Yest're'en, I couldna bide     For thinkin', thinkin' as I lay         O' the wean that lies outside.     O, mickle licht to me was gie'n         To reach my bairn's abode,     But heaven micht blast a mither's een         And her feet wad find the road.     The kirkyaird loan alang the brae         Was choked wi' brier and whin,     A' i' the dark the stanes were grey         As wraiths when I gae'd in.     The wind cried frae the western airt         Like warlock tongues at strife,     But the hand o' fear hauds aff the he'rt         That's lost its care for life.     I sat me lang upon the green,         A stanethraw frae the kirk,     And syne a licht shone dim between         The shaws o' yew and birk.     '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!