Heath flowers being a collection of poems, chiefly lyrical, written in the Highlands. By William Glen |
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THE LASS OF ABERFOYLE. |
 | Heath flowers |  |
THE LASS OF ABERFOYLE.
My tortur'd bosom long shall feel
The pangs o' this last sad fareweel,
For far to foreign lands I stray,
To spend my hours in deepest wae;
Fareweel, my dear, my native soil,
Fareweel the braes o' Aberfoyle.
The pangs o' this last sad fareweel,
For far to foreign lands I stray,
To spend my hours in deepest wae;
Fareweel, my dear, my native soil,
Fareweel the braes o' Aberfoyle.
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An' fare ye weel my winsome love,
Into whatever lands I rove,
Thou'lt claim the deepest, dearest sigh,
The warmest tear e'er wet mine eye,
An' whan I'm wan'rin' mony a mile,
I'll mourn for Kate o' Aberfoyle.
Into whatever lands I rove,
Thou'lt claim the deepest, dearest sigh,
The warmest tear e'er wet mine eye,
An' whan I'm wan'rin' mony a mile,
I'll mourn for Kate o' Aberfoyle.
When tost upon the ragin' sea,
As thunders roar and lightnings flee,
When sweeping storms the ship assail,
I'll bless the music of the gale,
An' think, while listenin' a' the while,
I hear the storms o' Aberfoyle.
As thunders roar and lightnings flee,
When sweeping storms the ship assail,
I'll bless the music of the gale,
An' think, while listenin' a' the while,
I hear the storms o' Aberfoyle.
Katy! my only love, fareweel,
What pangs my faithfu' heart will feel
While strayin' thro' the Indian groves,
Weepin' our woes, our early loves;
I'll ne'er mair see my native soil,
Fareweel! fareweel! sweet Aberfoyle!
What pangs my faithfu' heart will feel
While strayin' thro' the Indian groves,
Weepin' our woes, our early loves;
I'll ne'er mair see my native soil,
Fareweel! fareweel! sweet Aberfoyle!
| Heath flowers | |