Poems and songs :: :: University of Virginia Library

Ye gowany braes, ye meadows green,
Ye dear retreats o' Simmer sheen,
Ye heights whare busy Labour's seen,
An' rural glee,
Mark ye the stranger's thoughtfu mien,
An' ruefu' e'e?

Alas! there was a time, I trow,
Ye scenes, whan he was kent to you;
Whan his young heart ilk pleasure knew
O' life's gay morn,
Pure as the blobs o' siller dew
Upo' the thorn.

Departed days! Youth's joyfu' reign!
O, will ye never come again?
Ah! fled is ilka happy scene
Youth ran to meet,
Except whan Fancy warms the strain,
Delusion sweet!

Yet let me pensive musing stray
By sunny bank an' flowery brae,
While former joys, now fled away,
My bosom warm,
An' dear remembered scenes display
Ilk wonted charm.

How bonny spreads the Haugh sae green,
Near yonder haly ruins seen!
The Briery Bauk how sweet at e'en,
Wi' music's sound,
Whare weel the wandering e'e may glean
Ilk landscape round!

An' peeping frae yon broomy height,
The Yellow Craigs break on the sight,
Whare aft the youngsters tak their flight,
Wi' hearts fu' gay;
Ah me! the lintie's joy to blight
For mony a day.

There ithers round the greenwood ply,
An' fearless, 'midst their thoughtless joy,
The Kay-Heughs climb, wild, rugged, high,
Wi' hoary side,
While rooks an' cushats dinsome cry,
Baith far an' wide.

But let me breathe my heart's warm flame
Aneath yon auld tree's aged frame,
Whare Friendship past may justly claim
A silent tear,
To trace ilk rudely-sculptured name
O' comrades dear.

How scattered now!—ah! wae is me!
They steer their course on Life's dark sea;
Some scud awa wi' lightsome glee
An' easy sail;
Some aft the rudest shock maun dree
O' Ruin's gale.

O Life! in thy wee fond career,
What shifting lights an' shades appear!
Now Hope's bright beam will twinkle clear,
An' promise fair;
Now lours the gloom, sae dark an' drear,
O' deep Despair!

An' such, ye scenes to Nature true,
The chequered features seen in you;
Here shadows dark, ilk glen, an' how,
An' laigh-land, fill;
There sunny beams wi' light bestrew
Field, wood, an' hill.

Sweet Tyne! while thus thy streamlet plays,
An' sparkles bright in siller rays,
How bonny are thy banks an' braes
Through Simmer's prime!
They claim the musing Minstrel's lays
An' thoughts sublime.

Yes, down thy banks, ance on a day,
Aft Saltoun's sons wad musing stray,
Whan Freedom fanned the kindling ray
O' patriot fire;
An' eke the Muses wont to play
Their gleesome lyre.

For here, the dewy leas amang,
The Bard wad breathe his heaven-taught sang;
An' here, frae 'midst the rural thrang,
A Douglas rose,
Whan “woods and wilds,” green-waving, rang
Wi' Randolph's woes.

Wake Nature's lyre, sweet, wild, an' chaste!
O wake the strain that lulls to rest!
Thy notes may charm my throbbing breast,
By anguish torn,
While I the joys an' pleasures past
Can only mourn.