I'm back amang the broomy braes, And where the hazel nuts did hang, In clusters frae the tree. How clear the stream gushed frae the rock! How red the berries hung! How happily from twig to twig, The Watty-Wag-tail sprung! How joyfully the lintie sang, And I as happy a' the day, O, ever blessed be the bards! THE OLD EMIGRANT'S SONG TO HIS WIFE. Near fifty years have fled awa', And fleetly they did flee, Since ye left hame and kindred a' And cam awa wi' me. O then ye were a strappin' quean, The pride o' Locher glen, And wha could match my bonnie Jean, Nae staff ye needit then. And proud was I my dawtie dear, Among the woods o' Canada, But here or there, or onywhere, Your heart was aye the same. And oft when battlin' wi' the heat, Or weary winter's snaw, And when I thocht I would be beat, And rued I cam awa. O ye were ne'er the ane to fret, But kept my heart aboon, Wi' smiles sweet as when first we met, By Locher's roaring lin. Your raven locks are changed to snaw, The licht has left your e'e, Your tottering step within the ha' And changed am I, my dawtie dear, And we maun soon be parted here, Yet we hae little cause to greet, WE LIVE IN A RICKETY HOUSE. We live in a rickety house, In a dirty dismal street, Where the naked hide from day, And pious folks with their tracts, And they quote us texts to prove, And they feed us with the fact, That the fault is all our own. It will be long ere the poor, And religion all in one. |