Classic Poem

Fare thee well, dear sunny spot,
Rustic yard, and homely cot,
Where, afar from strife and noise,
Screened from busy tongues and eyes,
I was wont to plod and toil,
Turning o'er the rich red soil,
Checking every weed at birth,
Feeding still the grateful earth.
Every morn and evening spent,
Gaining health and sweet content—
Fare thee well!—yet, ere we part,
Let me tell how trig thou wert.

Beds of flowers blooming fair,
Fresh with fragrance balm'd the air,
While all deftly dressed and drilled,
Our kale-yard was densely filled—
With potatoes, peas, and beans,
Cabbage, turnips, leeks, and greens,
And our thriving berry bushes,
Brought us scores of minstrel thrushes;
Who, as hailing fellow-bard,
Gathered round me on the sward,
And with “frater feeling strong,”
Paid their supper with a song.

Then our children romped in play
Out of doors the livelong day,
Free in dress, and free of care,
Tanned with sun and flushed with air;
While among the half-clad elves
Their mamma fled like themselves,
Through the fields, and through the trees.
Off they buzzed like swarming bees,
Screaming, romping, laughing, racing,
Pouting, panting, daffing, chasing,
Till, aroused, their sage papa,
Ran and swelled the loud guffaw.

Merry neighbours, ancient trees,
Sang to every passing breeze,
And in happy unison
Danced to music of their own;
Shading lawns and trellised bowers,
Bounding Merchiston's grey towers,
Home of Napier, who of yore
Founded logarithmic lore.
Still around the hoary pile
Learning plays with rosy smile,
Merchiston knows no decay,
Twined with wreaths of Gibson's bay.

Far around in gold and green
Lothians' waving fields were seen;
Sunny villas, nestling prest,
On Corstorphine's shaggy breast,
While Craiglockhart's foliaged brow
Gave Braid's whins a richer glow,
And around Carnethy's peak
Sunbeams played at hide and seek.
Gleaming in the cold clear north
Rolled the broad majestic Forth,
And the Lomonds' capt in blue,
Kissed the clouds and closed the view.

Not far off, nor yet too near,
Dear Edina was more dear,
Through the trees I wont to peep
At her rugged castled steep,
At her spires, and towers, and domes,
Hoary fanes, and happy homes,
Till with patriot ardour fired,
And with filial love inspired,
I invoked Heaven's blessings down
On my own, my native town,
As I now invoke on thee,
Happy home, to mine and me.