His fierceness forsakes him, he yields to her strain.
Glen Dochart, Glen Lochy, are bright to the view,
With their corries of green when their dress they renew;
With the shadowy nooks where the streamlet fast rushes,
Where you hear the gay chorus of robins and thrushes.
All changeless I see them, hill, river, and road,
But where are the people that once there abode?
Some rest in their graves ’neath the slumberous sod,
But the many are scattered o’er ocean abroad.
The smoke rises high from our house as before,