With hearts resigned they tranquilly prepare
To share the fortunes of that exile train.
And soon with many a follower, forth they fare—
High hope and courage in their hearts again:
And now, afloat upon the dark-blue main,
They gaze upon the fast-receding shore
With tearful eyes—while thus the ballad strain,
Half heard amidst the ocean’s weltering roar,
Bids farewell to the scenes they ne’er shall visit more:—
“Our native land—our native vale—
A long and last adieu!
Farewell to bonny Teviot-dale,
And Cheviot mountains blue!
“Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds,
And streams renowned in song;
Farewell, ye blithesome braes and meads
Our hearts have loved so long.
“Farewell, ye broomy elfin knowes,
Where thyme and harebells grow!
Farewell, ye hoary haunted howes,
O’erhung with birk and sloe.
“The battle-mound, the Border-tower,
That Scotia’s annals tell;
The martyr’s grave, the lover’s bower—
To each—to all—farewell!
“Home of our hearts! our father’s home!
Land of the brave and free!
The sale is flapping on the foam
That bears us far from thee!
“We seek a wild and distant shore
Beyond the Atlantic main;
We leave thee to return no more,
Nor view thy cliffs again:
“But may dishonour blight our fame,
And quench our household fires,
When we, or ours, forget thy name,
Green Island of our Sires.
“Our native land—our native vale—
A long, a last adieu!
Farewell to bonny Teviot-dale,
And Scotland’s mountains blue.”
Thomas Pringle.