How aft have I thy heathy hills
Climb'd in life's early day!
Or pierced the dark depths of thy woods
To pu' the nit or slae;
Or lain beneath the spreading thorn,
Hid frae the sun's bright beams,
While on my raptured ear was borne
The music of thy streams!
And aft, when frae the schule set free,
I 've join'd a merry ban',
Whase hearts were loupin' licht wi' glee,
Fresh as the morning's dawn,
And waunert, Cruikston, by thy tower,
Or through thy leafy shaw,
The livelang day, nor thocht o' hame
Till nicht began to fa'.
But now the buoyancy o' youth,
And a' its joys are gane—
My children scatter'd far and wide,
And I am left alane;
For she who was my hope and stay,
And soothed me when distress'd,
Within the narrow house of death
Has lang been laid at rest.
And puirtith's cloud doth me enshroud;
Sae, after a' my toil,
I 'm gaun to lay my puir auld clay
Within a foreign soil.
Fareweel, fareweel, auld Scotia dear!
A last fareweel to thee!
Thy tinkling rills, thy heath-clad hills,
Again I 'll never see!
O'ER MOUNTAIN AND VALLEY.
O'er mountain and valley
Morn gladly did gleam;
The streamlets danced gaily
Beneath its bright beam;
The daisies were springing
To life at my feet;
The woodlands were ringing
With melody sweet.
But the sky became low'ring,
And clouds big with rain,
Their treasures outpouring,
Soon deluged the plain.
The late merry woodlands
Grew silent and lone;
And red from the muirlands
The river rush'd down.
Thus life, too, is chequer'd
With sunshine and gloom;
Of change 'tis the record—
Now blight and now bloom.
Oft morn rises brightly,
With promise to last,
But long, long ere noontide
The sky is o'ercast.
Yet much of the trouble
'Neath which mortals groan,
They contrive to make double
By whims of their own.
Oh! it makes the heart tingle
With anguish to think,
That our own hands oft mingle
The bitters we drink.