On the wild braes of Calder.
[John Struthers.]
On the wild braes of Calder, I found a fair lily,
All drooping with dew in the breath of the morn,
A lily more fair never bloom'd in the valley,
Nor rose, the gay garden of art to adorn.
Sweet, sweet, was the fragrance this lily diffused,
As blushing, all lonely, it rose on the view,
But scanty its shelter, to reptiles exposed,
And every chill blast from the cold north that blew.
Beneath yon green hill, a small field I had planted,
Where the light leafy hazel hangs over the burn;
And a flower such as this, to complete it, was wanted,
A flower that might mark the gay season's return.
Straight home to adorn it, I bore this fair lily.
Where, at morn, and at even, I have watch'd it with care,
And blossoming still, it is queen of the valley,
The glory of spring, and the pride of the year.
Calder braes.
[John Struthers.]
Bright be the bloom of Calder braes,
There, lightsome, glide the sunny days,
And there, by night, the moon's pale rays
Keep aff black darkness dreary.
There let the rosy-bosom'd Spring
Her choicest sweets together bring,
While round her, wild, on wanton wing,
Her children flutter cheery.
There balmy, let the summer breeze,
Sough saft amang the birken trees,
Where stretch'd, the shepherd's pipe at ease,
Unken'd to care sae bleary.
And there, from Plenty's flowing horn,
Let yellow Autumn pour her corn,
That hinds the coming wintry morn
May see, nor tremble eerie.
For there young fancy's beamy rays
Shone bright upon my infant days,
Ere yet I dream'd life's thorny ways
Had been sae waefu' weary.
Companions of my artless glee!
Sweet laughing imps! now where are ye?
Wish'd manhood's come—but ah! like me,
Ye sigh life's paths are briery.
No longer playful in the stream,
Ye, paidling, con the flowery theme,
Nor wild flowers string, and fondly dream
Your days shall rise thus clear aye:
No; far behind yon rising wave,
The storms of life, ye, wandering, brave,
Save one or two, who here a grave
Found ere their feet were weary.
Departed friends! upon your tomb,
Be still the wild flowers seen to bloom,
There evening breathe her sweet perfume,
And shed the silent tear aye.
With you, this wildly throbbing breast,
Deep worn with care, with sorrow prest,
Would glad in silence sink to rest,
From strife and toil sae weary.
But in my heart, with life's warm tide,
Thou, Calder, still shalt dimpling glide,
And there thy braes in flowery pride
Shall rise for ever cheery.
And still my ardent wish shall be,
That plenty, love, and social glee,
In concert sweet, may keep with thee,
A refuge for the weary.
The Vale of Clyde.
[John Struthers.—Tune, "Gramachree."]
Admiring nature's simple charms,
I left my humble home,
Awhile my country's peaceful plains
With pilgrim step to roam:
I mark'd the leafy summer wave
On flowing Irvine's side,
But richer far's the robe she wears
Within the vale of Clyde.
