Classic Poem

I SCARCE need say thou'rt welcome back
Frae owre the lang and weary track.
Wi' you I lang to hae a crack
'Bout Scotia dear,
And questions by the yard, in fac',
I want to speer.

I only wish alang wi' thee
I could hae ventured owre the sea;
For to oor ain green glens, ah, me!
Glens o' the west,
Back like a bird I fain would flee
To my young nest.

When winter shrouds this land in gloom,
And leafless trees talk o' the tomb,
Just speak o' Scotland's bonnie broom,
And instantly
I'm wafted to youth's world o' bloom
Ayont the sea.

What joy wi' thee to rove amang
Her hills and dales, renown'd in sang,
And battle-fields, where peasants sprang
At freedom's ca',
And nobly dared against the wrang
To stand or fa'.

There Freedom built her lofty dome,
And, issuing from her mountain home,
Defied the legions of old Rome
Her to enslave—
No, not another step to come,
Save o'er her grave.

To gaze upon the hills ance mair—
Auld monarchs on their thrones of air
Still tow'ring in their glory there
As, when a boy,
I gazed on them wi' rapture rare—
Oh, what a joy!

And let us wander where we may,
They never leave us by the way;
At ev'ry hamely word or lay
Hoo they will start,
Wrapt in their misty mantles grey,
Up in the heart!

Oh, but to lie the broom amang,
And listen to the lav'rock's sang,
In notes, a perfect living thrang,
A' rainin' doon;
Back ev'ry foot I'd gladly gang
To hear the soun'.

And then the wee grey lintie coy—
Ah, wasna he a living joy?
While ev'ry wee enraptured boy,
W' heart ahush,
Drank in the strains without alloy
Frae tree or bush.

And wi' what joy ance mair to stray
By Crookston Castle's ruins grey,
Where hapless Mary view'd the fray
Upon Langside,
Which doom'd her to a lot o' wae,
Sair, sair to bide.

That ruin auld did ye explore?
Still sitting in Glengarnock hoar,
From which owre to Largs' rugged shore,
To face the Dane,
Hardyknute in days of yore
March'd not in vain.

Ah, weel I mind, 'mang youthfu' pranks,
I travel'd far wi' weary shanks
To gaze on Bothwell's bonnie banks,
Still blooming fair,
And where the Covenanting ranks
Were worsted sair.

Then a' the glories o' romance
Did ev'ry sight and sound enhance;
How grand upon her steeds to prance!
Oh, why did truth
Awake us frae that glorious trance
Wi' facts forsooth?

Dear early world! ere selfish sin,
Wi' a' her weary strife and din,
And wrath-wudhags, had enter'd in
Wi' cursed greed,
To a' her heavenly glories blin'
As bats, indeed.

Still looking back, wi' fond regret,
Youth's radiant world we ne'er forget:
The sun o' young Romance, tho' set,
Still throws a haze
O' never dying glories yet
Amang the braes.

But now I maun draw to an end,
In hopes to see you soon, my friend,
And ae haill day at least to spend,
And hear o' a'
The things that roun' my heart still blend,
Tho' far awa'.