Volume V Part 11 (1/2)
Oh, dear to our hearts Is the hand that first fed us, And dear is the land And the cottage that bred us.
And dear are the comrades With whom we once sported, And dearer the maiden Whose love we first courted.
Joy's image may perish, E'en grief die away; But the scenes of our youth Are recorded for aye.
DOWIE IN THE HINT O' HAIRST.
Its dowie in the hint o' hairst, At the wa'-gang o' the swallow, When the wind grows cauld, and the burns grow bauld, And the wuds are hingin' yellow; But oh, its dowier far to see The wa-gang o' her the heart gangs wi', The dead-set o' a s.h.i.+nin' e'e-- That darkens the weary warld on thee.
There was mickle love atween us twa-- Oh, twa could ne'er be fonder; And the thing on yird was never made, That could hae gart us sunder.
But the way of heaven's aboon a' ken, And we maun bear what it likes to sen'-- It's comfort, though, to weary men, That the warst o' this warld's waes maun en'.
There's mony things that come and gae, Just kent, and just forgotten; And the flowers that busk a bonnie brae, Gin anither year lie rotten.
But the last look o' that lovely e'e, And the dying grip she gae to me, They're settled like eternitie-- Oh, Mary! that I were wi' thee.
ON WI' THE TARTAN.
Can you lo'e, my dear la.s.sie, The hills wild and free; Whar' the sang o' the shepherd Gars a' ring wi' glee?
Or the steep rocky glens, Where the wild falcons bide?
Then on wi' the tartan, And, fy, let us ride!
Can ye lo'e the knowes, la.s.sie, That ne'er war in rigs?
Or the bonnie loune lee, Where the sweet robin bigs?
Or the sang o' the lintie, Whan wooin' his bride?
Then on wi' the tartan, And, fy, let us ride!
Can ye lo'e the burn, la.s.sie, That loups amang linns?
Or the bonnie green howmes, Where it cannilie rins, Wi' a cantie bit housie, Sae snug by its side?
Then on wi' the tartan, And, fy, let us ride!
THE ROVER O' LOCHRYAN.
The Rover o' Lochryan, he's gane, Wi' his merry men sae brave; Their hearts are o' the steel, an' a better keel Ne'er bowl'd owre the back o' a wave.