Classic Poem

Alane I wander, alane I pine,
Whaur nane can hear, an' whaur nane can see,
To sigh ower the days o' auld lang syne,
Wi' brimfou' bosom an' tearfu' ee.
There's nane to feel or to care for me,
There's nane to ken the wanderer noo,
Wha roamed these mountains in youthfu' glee,
But climbs them noo wi' a careworn broo.

For hopeless love did I leave my hame,
For hopeless love did I lang to dee;
My love, my langin' are still the same,
But my dear Mary, — O whaur is she!
And what are thae changeless hills to me,
The flowery brae, or the wimplin' burn?
Yon green grave only meets my ee,
An' cauld death welcomes my lane return.