Classic Poem

Nae mair, nae mair, the auld fireside —
The couthy hoose she weel could guide:
What matters noo what may betide,
Sin' she 's awa' —
There 's naething here that 's worth the bide
O' care an' thraw .

The hills are high abüne my blame —
The Road rins straught an' yont the same —
This hoose we aye hae kent as hame: —
But whaur am I? —
I hardly mind my vera name! —
My wits are bye .