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THE SIX SORROWS
My six-foot Jock, in all the town
No lad was like to him,
What mother's heart could hold my pride
Though joy my eyes would dim.
Then I could weep but happy tears,
They soothe not now my grief,
The burning anguish of my heart
Has quenched that font's relief.
One morn his brow on me did frown,
His ready laugh grew still,
Full late it was when he came home,
In silence from the hill.
"Where have you been, my son so dear,
So long, so late!" I cried,
"To seek a little lamb who strayed
Upon the bleak hill-side."
"What dyes so red, my child, my son,
The plaid about your breast?"
"'Tis where the wounded lamb did lie,
And here its heart-beat pressed."
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