Poems (Clark)/"Come Awa' Hame, Donald, Lea'us na Mair"
"COME AWA' HAME, DONALD, LEA' US NA MAIR"
Come awa' hame, Donald; 'tis weary I'm grown,
The hours hae been mony sin' ye left me here alone;
Nine times the heather's purple has flecked the hills wi' bloom,
Nine times the cauld o' winter has chilled me wi' its gloom.
The hours hae been mony sin' ye left me here alone;
Nine times the heather's purple has flecked the hills wi' bloom,
Nine times the cauld o' winter has chilled me wi' its gloom.
Ye hae been lang awa', but I ken ye'll nae forget
How your mither waits your comin' before her sun sha' set;
Ye could nae thus hae' staid had ye ken'd how sad and sair
Grows a mither's heart while fearin' her bairn wad come na mair.
How your mither waits your comin' before her sun sha' set;
Ye could nae thus hae' staid had ye ken'd how sad and sair
Grows a mither's heart while fearin' her bairn wad come na mair.
Ye've nae forgot the Hielands, in that land ayont the sea,
Nor the wee bit cote adoun the vale, beneath the braid auld tree;
Nor the ingle where thy sire, a-wearied frae the field,
Finds rest and such glad peacefu'ness as hame alone can yield.
Nor the wee bit cote adoun the vale, beneath the braid auld tree;
Nor the ingle where thy sire, a-wearied frae the field,
Finds rest and such glad peacefu'ness as hame alone can yield.
The daisies lift their faces frae out yon garden bed,
And the birdies in their nests are warblin' owrehead;
And the cry my heart is sendin' has aye this burden sair,—
Come awa' to your hame, Donald, and lea' us na mair.
And the birdies in their nests are warblin' owrehead;
And the cry my heart is sendin' has aye this burden sair,—
Come awa' to your hame, Donald, and lea' us na mair.
Your father's nae sae bonny, an' my locks are growin' grey,
We're far alang the pathway that wi' end in heav- en some day;
O a' our bairns, except yoursel', we hae said, "The Lord does weal;"
For each has gang before us to the "Land o' the Leal."
We're far alang the pathway that wi' end in heav- en some day;
O a' our bairns, except yoursel', we hae said, "The Lord does weal;"
For each has gang before us to the "Land o' the Leal."
On the stane by the doorway, when twilight shadows fa'
I sit an' wait your comin' doun the path beside the wa';
An' the sang I used to sing I aftentimes repeat,
As when, a bairnie on my breast, I was rockin' ye to sleep.
I sit an' wait your comin' doun the path beside the wa';
An' the sang I used to sing I aftentimes repeat,
As when, a bairnie on my breast, I was rockin' ye to sleep.
There's a voice borne on the breeze as it floats adoun the glen,
A voice sae like your ain I think ye've come again,
An' the wish ye aft must feel seems whisperin' thro' the air,
"Oh, the Hielands! the Hielands! Oh, gin I was there."
A voice sae like your ain I think ye've come again,
An' the wish ye aft must feel seems whisperin' thro' the air,
"Oh, the Hielands! the Hielands! Oh, gin I was there."
Oh, Donald! dear bairn Donald! up yonder meadow slope
Somewayfarer is nearin'. Oh, wad that I might hope
It was thysel' returnin', now even amaist here,
"Twad be the bonniest sicht I've met in mony a year.
Somewayfarer is nearin'. Oh, wad that I might hope
It was thysel' returnin', now even amaist here,
"Twad be the bonniest sicht I've met in mony a year.
My heart grows still wi' watchin', for the way across the moor
Brings the laddie ever nearer, an' he seems to seek our door.
Oh, Donald! Donald! 'tis thysel', thy ain dear sel' at last,
Ance more amang the Hielands, thy days o' absence past.
Brings the laddie ever nearer, an' he seems to seek our door.
Oh, Donald! Donald! 'tis thysel', thy ain dear sel' at last,
Ance more amang the Hielands, thy days o' absence past.