Yestreen I heard a child's faint cry,
‘Where is Phemie, Phemie Blayne?’
As I with book in hand passed by—
Call louder, child, oh, call again.
The infant did, it shrieked amain,
‘Annie Logie, where is she?’
A sweeter name than Phemie Blayne!
Where can the loitering damsels be?
Annie Logie, Phemie Blayne!
Good heavens, could I only see
Their innocent faces, they might sain
And save poor thought-distempered me.
In that thatched cottage to remain,
Phemie Blayne to woo and wed,
Or Annie Logie choose instead!
Were I but twenty-one again,
With no ambitions in my head!