Poems by Robert Nicoll :: :: University of Virginia Library

My heart is sad and wae, mither,
To leave my native land—
Its bonnie glens—its hills sae blue—
Its memory-hallow'd strand—
The friends I've lo'ed sae lang and weel—
The hearts that feel for me:
But, mither, mair than a' I grieve
At leavin' thee.

The hand that saft my bed has made
When I was sick and sair,
Will carefully my pillow lay
And haud my head nae mair.
The een that sleeplessly could watch
When I was in my pain,
Will ne'er for me, from night to dawn,
E'er wake again.

There's kindness in the warld, mither,
An' kindness I will meet;

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But nane can be what thou hast been—
Nane's praise can be sae sweet;
Nae ither e'er can love thy son
Wi' love akin to thine—
An' nane can love thee, mither dear,
Wi' love like mine.

I'll keep thee in my inmost soul
Until the day I dee;
For saft, saft is my mither's hand,
An' kindly is her e'e;
An' when God-sent spirits far away
To him my soul shall bear,
My deepest joy will be to meet
My mither there.