72
THE HAMEWARD SANG.
By Hugh AINSLIE.
EACH Whirl of the wheel,
Each step brings me nearer
The hame of my youth-
Every object grow's dearer.
Thae hills and thae huts,
And thae trees on that green;
Losh! they glow'r in my face,
Like some kindly auld frien'
E'en the brutes they look social,
As gif they would crack;
And the sang of the bird
Seems to welcome me back.
O dear to our hearts
Is the hand that first fed us,
And dear is the land,
And the cottage that bred us.
And dear are tho comrades,
With whom we once sported;
And dearer the maiden,
Whose love we first courted.
Joy's image may perish,
E'en grief die away;
But the scenes of our youth
Are recorded for aye.
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HERE'S A HEALTH TO ANE I LO'E DEAR.
Words by Burns. Air old." Hey-note D.
HERE's a health to ane I lo'e dear,
Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear;
Thou art sweet as the smile when kind lovers meet,
And saft as their parting tear, Jessie!
Altho' thou maun never be mine,
Altho' even hope is denied:
'Tis sweeter for thee despairing,
Than aught in the world beside, Jessie!
I mourn thro' the gay gaudy' day,
As hopeless I muse on thy charms;
But welcome the dream o' sweet slumber,
For then I am lock'd in thy arms, Jessie!
I guess by the dear angel smile,
I guess by the love-rolling e'e;
But why urge the tender confession,
'Gainst fortune's fell cruel deeree, Jessie.
