Classic Poem

OR, THE W ANDERER'S R ETURN

When mony a year had come and gane,
And I'd grown auld and hoary;
And mony a hope had proven vain
As mony a dream o' glory;
Then backward to my childhood's hame
A weary langing sent me:
I found my native vale the same,
But very few that kent me.

There were the hills my childhood saw —
They look'd as if they knew me;
And well they might, when far awa',
Oh, how they did pursue me!
And there amang the broomy braes
I often paused and ponder'd
Upon the joys o' ither days,
Then on again I wander'd.

At length our cot appear'd in view, —
Oh, weel I kent the biggin'!
There was the same o'erhanging yew,
And thack upon the riggin';
And there the winnock in the en',
Wi' woodbine train'd sae trimly,
And up abune the cosie den
Reek swirlin' frae the chimley.

Oh, how my heart leap'd at the sight,
Till I could hardly bear it!
I felt as if I would gang gyte,
For I was maist deleerit.
And hurrying to that sacred spot,
Ilk thump cam' quick and quicker.
I tried to pray, but in my throat
The words grew thick and thicker.

To hide my tears I vainly strove,
For nae ane came to meet me;
Nae mither wi' her look o' love,
Nae sister, came to greet me.
For gane were they, both ane and a' —
The dear hearts that I cherish'd —
Gane like the flow'rs o' spring awa',
Or like a vision perish'd.

This was the spot o' a' maist dear,
Where a' my dreams were centred;
And yet, wi' trembling and wi' fear,
Beneath that roof I enter'd.
There was the place my faither sat
Beside my mither, spinnin',
An' a' the bairns wi' merry chat
In joy around her rinnin'.

There, in the cottage o' my birth,
The same rooftree above me,
I stood a wand'rer on the earth,
Wi' na ane left to love me.
Oh! I had often stood alone
On mony a post o' danger,
And never wept till standing on
My native hearth — a stranger.

I sought the auld kirkyard alane,
Where a' the lov'd are sleeping,
And only the memorial stane
Its watch abune them keeping,
It only said that they were dead,
Once here, but now departed;
A' gane! a' gane! to their lang hame,
The true, the gentle-hearted.

" Oh, life, " I cried, " is all a woe,
A journey lang and dreary,
If there's nae hame to which we go,
Nae heart-hame for the weary! "
I clear'd the weeds frae aff the stane,
And lang I sat and ponder'd
Upon the days forever gane,
Then weary on I wander'd.