Classic Poem

My dear frien', Dawvit, hae ye time
To hearken to a screed o' rime?
And tho' it mayna be sublime —
A gem o' art —
It comes, as frae youth's joyous clime,
Fresh frae the heart.

For e'en tho' I am auld and grey,
And frae the dear lan' far away,
The mem'ry o' youth's joyous May
Still back doth bring
A touch o' blithe vitality
Upon its wing.

Oh, what a worl' we liev'd in then!
O' cataract and brae and ben,
O' ruin'd keep in lonely glen,
And castle hoar,
Faur frae the busy haunts of men,
Brooding on yore.

A joyous youth was thine an' mine,
When Nature a' seem'd to combine
Aroon' oor path her floo'rs to twine,
Wi' hope and joy —
The very memory divine
Naught can destroy.

For then the earth seem'd fresh and new,
And bore such floo'rs o' glorious hue,
Fresh wi' the dawn and Eden dew
Upon them a' —
Ah! then we dreamt not of, nor knew,
Aught o' the Fa'.

Spring cam' in shoo'rs o' gowans white,
And hawthorn blossoms burst to sight,
And buttercups — what a delight!
Wi' eglantine,
Still hingin' in the gowden light
O' dear lang syne.

We kent whaur the " witch thummels " grew,
And bonnie bells in clusters blue,
Primroses — cells o' siller dew,
Ha' blossoms white —
The sod wi' gowans peeping through
In sheer delight!

And whaur the wee bit runnels leap,
And velvet mosses lo'e to creep,
And violets, wi' their dyes sae deep
And modest mien,
That jouk, and jink, or bashfu' peep
Frae nooks o' green.

I never hear a ballant rime,
But still, as in youth's joyous prime,
Despite o' distance, change and time,
Wi' prood delight,
The Highlan' hills, tow'ring sublime,
Stan' full in sight.

There, as o' auld, ance mair they stand,
The great auld hills — a giant band
And pride o' a' the mountain land —
Benlomond hoar
Amid them tow'ring great and grand,
King o' the core.

We've wander'd by the same clear rills,
Look'd on wi' awe the same auld hills,
We've music drank — the kind that fills
The Scottish heart —
And oh, what patriotic thrills
It did impart!

(Does not green Yarrow's vale belong
Unto the soul of past'ral song?
Affections — an undying throng —
She gathers round,
And holds her court the groves among,
Wi' lilies crown'd.

Is not the Scottish atmosphere
Laden wi' a' the heart holds dear?
Things that ne'er wither nor grow sear,
Nor pass away,
But in oor hearts still re-appear,
Free frae decay.)

Tho' we've baith wander'd faur and wide,
We ne'er forget the youthfu' pride
We cherish'd for our ain dear Clyde
In boyhood's dream,
Ah, there it shall forever glide,
Sole sovran stream!

Tho' frae Balclutha faur away,
Yet frae the grand auld ruins grey
We still hear Ossian's mournfu' lay,
'Mid grass sae tall,
And see the thistle 'mid decay
Wave on the wall.

Tho' fortune holds me in despite,
I bless her first we saw the light
In a romantic land, made bright
Wi' tale and sang,
O' heroes that focht for the right,
Nor brook'd the wrang.

Land o' romance and mountain hoar,
Wi' sang and legend running o'er,
A land thy children a' adore!
Tho' forced to part,
Still sacred art thou in the core
O' ilka heart.

A land that tyranny did spurn,
The land o' Bruce and Bannock burn,
Oh! let not Mammon e'er inurn
Thy spirit free:
Still may the light o' freedom burn,
Dear land, in thee. P.S.

Juist here the muse got aff the track,
And as I canna ca' her back,
Nae langer noo my brains I'll rack,
Sae let her gang, —
In hope we sune may hae a crack,
I quat my sang.