Classic Poem

Tak' aff, tak' aff this silken garb,
An' bring to me a Hieland plaid:
Nae bed was e'er sae saft an' sweet
As ane wi' it an' heather made.
Tak' aff this gowd-encircled thing,
An' bring to me a bonnet blue,
To mind me o' the Hieland hills
That I ha'e left for ever now.

Tak', tak' awa' this gaudy flower,
An' bring to me a sprig o' heather,
Like those langsyne among the hills
Of home and youth, I aft did gather.
For a' your luscious Indian fruit
The ripe blaeberry bring to me:
To be in braes where black thy hing
There's naught on earth I wadna' gi'e.

O! take away this tinsel wealth,
That wiled me frae my Hieland hame;
I cannot bear its glitter now,—
For it I've played a losing game.
O! bring me back my youthfu' heart—
The eye and hand of long ago—
Take a' I have, but place me syne
Afar where Hieland waters flow!

O! for an hour of youth and hope—
Ae moment of my youthfu' years
Upon the hills of Scotland dear,
When I had neither cares nor fears.
I mauna sigh, I mauna mane—
Before my fate I laigh maun bow,—
Bring wealth—bring wine—till I forget
The time when round me heather grew!