The Emigrant’s Farewell.
Green Albyn, farewell! though by us never more
Should be welcomed the hills that encircle thy shore:
Though to far distant worlds 'tis our fortune to roam,
Still to thee shall we look as the land of our home!
Green Albyn, farewell! though thou fad'st on our sight,
Are the deeds of our fathers not written in light?
And cannot the tones of the pibroch display
How they march'd to the field, how they won in the fray?
Green Albyn, farewell! though to us be not given
For our country to strive, as our fathers have striven,
'Tween their ashes and us, though may roll the dark sea,
Still their spirit is ours, and our hearts are with thee.
Green Albyn, farewell! though the glens of our pride
Through the mist of the morn, shall no more be descried,
Nor the deer on the hill; nor the cairn on the moor;
Nor the chief of the hall;—we are thine as of yore!
Green Albyn, farewell! when our footsteps shall stray
On the banks where Lake Erie expands to the day,
In our bonnets the rough-bearded thistle shall twine,
And be dear to our souls, as a symbol of thine!
Green Albyn, farewell! to thy rocks, to thy rills,
To the eagles that build on the crest of thy hills,
To the lake, to the forest, the moor and the dell,
To thee, and thy children, green Albyn, farewell!
’Twas nae her bonnie blue e’e.
[Burns.—Tune, "Laddie, lie near me."]
'Twas nae her bonnie blue e'e was my ruin;
Fair chough she be, that was ne'er my undoin':
'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us,
'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown glance o' kindness.
Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me,
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me;
But though fell fortune should fate us to sever,
Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever.
Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest,
And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest!
And thou art the angel that never can alter;
Sooner the sun in his motion shall falter.
