 | Songs of Religion and Life |  |
207
A Song of Fatherland by a Traveller.
I've wandered east, I've wandered west,
In gipsy-wise a random roamer;
Of men and minds I've known the best,
Like that far-travelled king in Homer.
In gipsy-wise a random roamer;
Of men and minds I've known the best,
Like that far-travelled king in Homer.
But O! for the land that bore me,
O! for the stout old land
Of breezy Ben and winding glen,
And roaring flood, and sounding strand!
O! for the stout old land
Of breezy Ben and winding glen,
And roaring flood, and sounding strand!
I've seen the domes of Moscow far,
In green and golden glory gleaming;
And stood where sleeps the mighty Czar,
By Neva's flood so grandly streaming.
In green and golden glory gleaming;
And stood where sleeps the mighty Czar,
By Neva's flood so grandly streaming.
But O! etc.
208
I've stood on many a storied spot,
Where blood of heroes flowed like rivers,
Where Deutschland rose at Gravelotte,
And dashed the strength of Gaul to shivers.
Where blood of heroes flowed like rivers,
Where Deutschland rose at Gravelotte,
And dashed the strength of Gaul to shivers.
But O! etc.
I've stood where stands in pillared pride,
The shrine of Jove's spear-shaking daughter,
And humbled Persia stained the tide
Of free Greek seas with heaps of slaughter.
The shrine of Jove's spear-shaking daughter,
And humbled Persia stained the tide
Of free Greek seas with heaps of slaughter.
But O! etc.
I've stood upon the rocky crest,
Where Jove's proud eagle spreads his pinion,
Where looked the God far east, far west,
And all he saw was Rome's dominion.
Where Jove's proud eagle spreads his pinion,
Where looked the God far east, far west,
And all he saw was Rome's dominion.
But O! etc.
I've fed my eyes by land and sea,
With sights of grandeur streaming o'er me,
But still my heart remains with thee,
Dear Scottish land, that stoutly bore me.
With sights of grandeur streaming o'er me,
209
Dear Scottish land, that stoutly bore me.
O! for the land that bore me,
O! for the stout old land,
With mighty Ben, and winding glen,
Stout Scottish land, my own dear land!
O! for the stout old land,
With mighty Ben, and winding glen,
Stout Scottish land, my own dear land!
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