Classic Poem

The wale o' Earth — yer native land;
Can it nae mair content ye?
An' wile yer heart frae foreign shows
That lure an' hauf dement ye.

The bonnie blue o' thae faur hills —
The FORTH there rowin' finely —
The nestlin' houses buskit sweet:
Do thae no' touch ye kin'ly?

There 's no' an airt yer e'e can turn
But hamelands meet yer vision;
An' no' a day ye need think lang
While ye hae health an' reason.

The blue o' heaven shines clearer here
Nor ower abüne yon PARIS:
An' as for ROME, or LONDON toun —
My judgment sair miscarries.

Gin life be worth the livin' there,
Or ill-willy folk be fewer:
They may look gay an' glitterin' fine
But lichtsome 's no' the truer!

It 's just yer eident workin' wit
That drives ye hyne an' thither;
That wonna rest wi' what ye hae
But aye maun ower the heather .

The wanderin' bee bums i' yer lug
An' sings o' sweeter honey ,
But, tent ye lad, the worth o' life
Lies na in fame nor money .