Auld Reekie, very dear art thou,
And yet, tho’ fair to see,
Ten months within thy gates, I trow,
Are quite enough for me.
. . . . .
Ended at last the weary round!
Good-bye to leaden skies:
With every mile we onward bound
Our spirits higher rise.
Onward o’er straths, thro’ mountain glens,