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For he had watched the ways o' men,
E'en from his early youth, And thought the world might a' be richt,
Would men but speak the truth;
Society is dreeing,
And frae our love o' leeing.
His heart was in ilka thing he did,
In every word he said,
Poured blessings on his head;
O fearfu' twas to see,
And lightning o' his e'e,
John always stept between,
And wi' his awfu' e'en.
And how the tall and stately knight,
Would feel he was no lordly soul,
If Elder John was by; And when he tampered with our rights,
O! twas a sight to see, How nervously the Knight did quake,
Beneath the elder's e'e;
And mony a cringing laird,
The lord o' a Kail-yaird.
For titled, tall impertinence,
Could never put him down, And he was just the man to give,
Oppression frown for frown;
He never strove to win,
But to the God aboon,
As few poor mortals can,
The dignity of man.
And yet his heart was formed for peace,
Wi' mony a gushing spring O' sweetest human sympathy,
Where hope would sit and sing; And how he loved the bonnie birds,
That warbled 'mong the bowers, The harmless lammie on the lee,
The children and the flowers;
When stars began to gleam,
Or some auld haunted stream.
But with his fathers long ago,
He's laid him down to sleep,
Shall mar his slumbers deep. Farewell, brave John, thou wert the last
Of an old pious race;
Had such to fill your place;
Thy memory ever dear,
A hero slumbers here.
Awake, lovely Alice,
The dawn's on the hill, The voice of the mavis
Is heard by the rill; The blackbird is singing,
His song in the brake, And the green woods are ringing,
Awake, love, awake!
The wild rose is blushing,
The pea is in bloom, The zephyr is brushing
The lang yellow broom; But thy voice is sweeter
Than birds on the tree, And joy is far deeper,
Sweet Alice with thee.
The voice of lone Locher,
Comes mellow and sweet, More welcome to me were
The fa' o' thy feet; The hawthorn is hoary,
And rich with perfume, But thou art the glory
Of nature in bloom.
Far deeper the joy, love,
Would nature impart, Were I but the lord of
Thine innocent heart; And 'neath fortune's malice
I ne'er would repine, Wert thou, lovely Alice,
O wert thou but mine.