Classic Poem

I.

The streams of old Scotland for me!
The joyous, the wilful, the wild,
The waters of song and of glee,
That ramble away to the sea
With the step and the mirth of a child!

II.

The valleys of England are wide;
Her rivers rejoice every one,
In grace and in beauty they glide,
And water flowers float at their side,
As they gleam in the rays of the sun.

III.

But where are the speed and the spray —
The dark lakes that welter them forth —
Tree and heath nodding over their way —
The rock and the precipice grey,
That bind the wild streams of the north?

IV.

Hath the salmon a dormient home
In track of the barbel or bream?
Or holds he his fastness of foam,
Where the wraiths of the dark tempest roam
At the break of a wandering stream?

V.

Even there you will find him, among
The glens of old Scotland afar,
And up through her valleys of song,
He silently glances along
In corselet of silver and star.

VI.

The rivers of Scotland for me!
They water the soil of my birth,
They gush from the hills of the free
And sing, as they seek the wild sea,
With a hundred sweet voices of mirth!