The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
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Farewell to Ettrick.
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
Farewell to Ettrick.
Fareweel, green Ettrick, fare-thee-weel!
I own I'm unco laith to leave thee;
Nane kens the half o' what I feel,
Nor half the cause I hae to grieve me.
I own I'm unco laith to leave thee;
Nane kens the half o' what I feel,
Nor half the cause I hae to grieve me.
There first I saw the rising morn;
There first my infant mind unfurled,
To ween that spot where I was born,
The very centre of the world.
There first my infant mind unfurled,
To ween that spot where I was born,
The very centre of the world.
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I thought the hills were sharp as knives,
An' the braid lift lay whomel'd on them,
An' glowred wi' wonder at the wives
That spak o' ither hills ayon' them.
An' the braid lift lay whomel'd on them,
An' glowred wi' wonder at the wives
That spak o' ither hills ayon' them.
As ilka year gae something new,
Addition to my mind or stature,
So fast my love for Ettrick grew,
Implanted in my very nature.
Addition to my mind or stature,
So fast my love for Ettrick grew,
Implanted in my very nature.
I've sung, in mony a rustic lay,
Her heroes, hills, and verdant groves;
Her wilds an' valleys fresh and gay,
Her shepherds' and her maidens' loves.
Her heroes, hills, and verdant groves;
Her wilds an' valleys fresh and gay,
Her shepherds' and her maidens' loves.
I had a thought,—a poor vain thought!
That some time I might do her honour;
But a' my hopes are come to nought,
I'm forced to turn my back upon her.
That some time I might do her honour;
But a' my hopes are come to nought,
I'm forced to turn my back upon her.
She's thrown me out o' house an' hauld;
My heart got never sic a thrust;
An' my poor parents, frail an' auld,
Are forced to leave their kindred dust.
My heart got never sic a thrust;
An' my poor parents, frail an' auld,
Are forced to leave their kindred dust.
But fare-ye-weel, my native stream,
Frae a' regret be ye preserved!
Ye'll may be cherish some at hame,
Wha dinna just sae weel deserve't.
Frae a' regret be ye preserved!
Ye'll may be cherish some at hame,
Wha dinna just sae weel deserve't.
There is nae man on a' your banks
Will ever say that I did wrang him;
The lassies hae my dearest thanks
For a' the joys I had amang them.
Will ever say that I did wrang him;
The lassies hae my dearest thanks
For a' the joys I had amang them.
Though twined by rough an' ragin' seas,
An' mountains capt wi' wreaths o' snaw,
To think o' them I'll never cease,
As lang as I can think ava.
An' mountains capt wi' wreaths o' snaw,
To think o' them I'll never cease,
As lang as I can think ava.
I'll make the Harris rocks to ring
Wi' ditties wild when nane shall hear;
The Lewis shores shall learn to sing
The names o' them I lo'ed sae dear;
Wi' ditties wild when nane shall hear;
The Lewis shores shall learn to sing
The names o' them I lo'ed sae dear;
But there is ane aboon the lave,
I'll carve on ilka lonely green;
The sea-bird tossin' on the wave,
Shall learn the name o' bonnie Jean.
I'll carve on ilka lonely green;
The sea-bird tossin' on the wave,
Shall learn the name o' bonnie Jean.
Ye gods take care o'my dear lass!
That as I leave her I may find her;
Till that blest time shall come to pass,
When we shall meet nae mair to sinder.
That as I leave her I may find her;
Till that blest time shall come to pass,
When we shall meet nae mair to sinder.
Fareweel, my Ettrick! fare-thee-weel!
I own I'm unco laith to leave thee;
Nane kens the half o' what I feel,
Nor half o' that I hae to grieve me.
I own I'm unco laith to leave thee;
Nane kens the half o' what I feel,
Nor half o' that I hae to grieve me.
My parents crazy grown wi' eild,
How I rejoice to stand their stay!
I thought to be their help an' shield,
An' comfort till their hindmost day:
How I rejoice to stand their stay!
I thought to be their help an' shield,
An' comfort till their hindmost day:
Wi' gentle hand to close their een,
An' weet the yird wi' mony a tear,
That held the dust o' ilka frien';
O' friends sae tender an' sincere:
An' weet the yird wi' mony a tear,
That held the dust o' ilka frien';
O' friends sae tender an' sincere:
It winna do:—I maun away
To yon rough isle, sae bleak an' dun;
Lang will they mourn, baith night an' day
The absence o' their darling son.
To yon rough isle, sae bleak an' dun;
Lang will they mourn, baith night an' day
The absence o' their darling son.
An' my dear Will! how will I fen',
Without thy kind an' ardent care?
Without thy verse-inspirin' pen,
My muse will sleep an' sing nae mair.
Without thy kind an' ardent care?
Without thy verse-inspirin' pen,
My muse will sleep an' sing nae mair.
Fareweel to a' my kith an' kin!
To ilka friend I held sae dear!
How happy hae we often been,
Wi' music, mirth an' hamely cheer!
To ilka friend I held sae dear!
How happy hae we often been,
Wi' music, mirth an' hamely cheer!
Nae mair your gilded banks at noon,
Swells to my sang in echoes glad;
Nae mair I'll screed the rantin' tune,
That haflins put the younkers mad.
Swells to my sang in echoes glad;
Nae mair I'll screed the rantin' tune,
That haflins put the younkers mad.
Nae mair amang the haggs an' rocks,
While hounds wi' music fill the air,
We'll hunt the sly an' sulky fox,
Or trace the wary circlin' hare.
While hounds wi' music fill the air,
We'll hunt the sly an' sulky fox,
Or trace the wary circlin' hare.
My happy days wi' you are past,
An', waes my heart, will ne'er return!
The brightest day may overcast,
An' man was made at times to mourn.
An', waes my heart, will ne'er return!
The brightest day may overcast,
An' man was made at times to mourn.
But if I ken my dyin' day,
Though a foreworn an' waefu' man,
I'll tak my staff, an' post away,
To yield my life where it began.
Though a foreworn an' waefu' man,
I'll tak my staff, an' post away,
To yield my life where it began.
If I should sleep nae mair to wake,
In yon far isle beyond the tide,
Set up a headstane for my sake,
An' prent upon its ample side;
In yon far isle beyond the tide,
Set up a headstane for my sake,
An' prent upon its ample side;
“In memory of a shepherd boy,
Who left us for a distant shore;
Love was his life, and song his joy;
But now he's dead—we add no more!”
Who left us for a distant shore;
Love was his life, and song his joy;
But now he's dead—we add no more!”
Fareweel, green Ettrick, fare-thee-weel!
I own I'm something wae to leave thee;
Nane kens the half o' what I feel,
Nor half the cause I hae to grieve me!
I own I'm something wae to leave thee;
Nane kens the half o' what I feel,
Nor half the cause I hae to grieve me!
| The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd | |