That aged pair sat down upon the green,
  While each the other helped to softest seat,
I watched their ways, myself by them unseen,
  And heard their quivering words, so kindly sweet,
As still of golden days when they were young,
  Of youth’s green summer time they spoke and wept,
And soft in wailing song there came along
  These words, which I in memory long have kept: 

THE SONG OF AGE.[A]

“The trees they are high, John, the leaves they are green,
The days are awa that you and I have seen;
The days are awa that we have seen;
And oh! for youth’s bonnie green summer again,
Summer again, summer again,
And oh! for youth’s bonnie green summer again.

“There was joy at our marriage—­a dance on the green,
They a’ roosed the light of my bonnie blue een,
My bonnie blue een, where tears may now be seen;
And oh! that we were to be married again,
Married again, married again,
And oh! that we were to be married again.

“The grass it is wet, John, the wind it is keen,
Our claes they are worn, and our shune they are thin;
Our shune they are thin, and the waters come in;
And oh! for youth’s bonnie green summer again,
Summer again, summer again,
And oh! for youth’s bonnie green summer again.

“There was joy in our youth, John, at wish’s command,
We danced and we sang, and we ilka gate ran,
But now dule and sorrow’s on ilka hand;
And oh! for youth’s bonnie green summer again,
Summer again, summer again,
And oh! for youth’s bonnie green summer again.

“There’s graves in yon howf, John, and hillocks o’ green,
Where our bairns lie sleeping that left us alane,
And they’re waiting for us till we gae to creep in;
And alas! for youth’s bonnie green summer again,
Summer again, summer again,
And alas! for youth’s bonnie green summer again.”

When she had crooned her chant, I heard him say,
  With sobbing voice and deep heart-heaving sigh,
“Dry up thae tears, my Jean, for things away,
  Time’s but a watch-tick in eternity;
We darena sing of earth, but lift our prayer
  To Him whose promises are never vain,
That we may dwell in yonder Eden fair,
  And see youth’s summer blooming green again.”

Then rose a prayer to Bethel’s Lord and King
  That He would lead them through this vale of woe,
And to the promised land his children bring,
  Where Babel’s streams in living waters flow. 
They left:  again all silence in the dell
  Save hum of bumble-bee on nimble wing,
Or zephyr sporting round the wild blue bell,
  While fancy feigned some tiny tinkle-ring.