The Lost Licht Poem by Violet Jacob

(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 souchin o the springtide breeze
Abuin her heid blaws sweet,
There's nests amang the kirkyaird trees
An gowans at her feet.
She gaed 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.
An, bedded, 'twixt the nicht an day,
Yestreen, I couldna bide
For thinkin, thinkin as I lay
O the wean that lies ootside.
O, mickle licht to me was gien
To reach my bairn's abode,
But heeven micht blast a mither's een
An her feet wad finnd the road.
The kirkyaird loan alang the brae
Was choked wi brier an whin,
A' i' the dark the stanes were grey
As wraiths when I gaed in.
The wind cried frae the western airt
Like warlock tongues at strife,
But the hand o fear hauds aff the hert
That's lost its care for life.
I sat me lang upon the green,
A stanethraw frae the kirk,
An syne a licht shone dim between
The shaws o yew an birk.
'twas na the wildfire's flame that played
Alang the kirkyaird land,
It was a band o bairns that gaed
Wi lichts in till their hand.
O white they cam, yon babie thrang,
A' silent ower the sod;
Ye couldna hear their feet amang
The graves, sae saft they trod.
An aye the caunles flickered pale
Below the darkened sky,
But the licht was like a broken trail
When the third wee bairn gaed by.
For whaur the caunle-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 hert was sair,
I cried, 'My ain! my dou!'
For a' thae weans the licht burns fair,
But it winna burn for you!'
She smiled to me, my little Jean,
Said she, 'The duil an pain,
O mither! frae your waefu een
They strike on me again:
'For ither babes the flame leaps bricht
An fair an braw appears,
But I canna keep my bonnie licht,
For it's droukit wi your tears!'
There blew across my ootstreeked 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
Altho my een growe blinnd,
Altho they twa to saut should turn
Wi the tears that lie behind.
O Jeanie, on my bended knee
I'll pray I mey forget,
My grief is a' that's left to me,
But there's something dearer yet!