Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/424

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ADIEU, MY NATIVE LAND, ADIEU!

And if a stock ye dare to pu',
Or baud the yoking o' a plough,
We'll break your sceptre o'er your mou',
Thou wee bit German lairdie.

Our hills are steep, our glens are deep,
Nae fitting for a yardie;
And our Norland thistles winna pu',
Thou wee bit German lairdie:
And we've the trenching blades o' weir,
Wad prune ye o' your German gear;
We'll pass ye 'neath the claymore's shear,
Thou feckless German lairdie.

Auld Scotland, thou'rt ower cauld a hole
For nursin' siccan vermin;
But the very dongs o' England's court
They bark and howl in German.
Then keep thy dibble in thy ain hand,
Thy spade but and thy yardie;
For wha the deil hae we gotten for a king
But a wee, wee German lairdie?

Adieu, My Native Land, Adieu!

Adieu, my native land, adieu!
The vessel spreads her swelling sails,
Perhaps I never more may view
Your fertile fields, your flowery dales;
Delusive hope can charm no more,
Far from the faithless maid I roam,
Unfriended seek some foreign shore,
Unpitied leave my peaceful home!
Adieu, my native land, &c.

Farewell, dear village, oh! farewell,
Soft on the gale thy murmur dies,
I hear thy solemn evening bell,
Thy spires yet glad my aching eyes;
Though frequent falls the dazzling tear,
I scorn to shrink at fate's degree,
And think not, cruel maid, that e'er
I'll breathe another sigh for thee.
Adieu, my native land, &c.