 | The Poetry of Robert Burns |  |
THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE
I
The Catrine woods were yellow seen,The flowers decay'd on Catrine lea;
Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green,
But nature sicken'd on the e'e;
Thro' faded groves Maria sang,
Hersel in beauty's bloom the while,
And aye the wild-wood echoes rang:—
‘Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle!
II
‘Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers,Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair;
Ye birdies, dumb in with'ring bowers,
Again ye'll charm the vocal air;
But here, alas! for me nae mair
Shall birdie charm, or floweret smile:
Fareweel the bonie banks of Ayr!
Fareweel! fareweel sweet Ballochmyle!’
| The Poetry of Robert Burns | |