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| AWAY, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses! | |
| In you let the minions of luxury rove; | |
| Restore me the rocks where the snow-flake reposes, | |
| Though still they are sacred to freedom and love: | |
| Yet, Caledonia, beloved are thy mountains, | 5 |
| Round their white summits though elements war; | |
| Though cataracts foam ’stead of smooth-flowing fountains, | |
| I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr. | |
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| Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wandered; | |
| My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid; | 10 |
| On chieftains long perished my memory pondered, | |
| As daily I strode through the pine-covered glade. | |
| I sought not my home till the day’s dying glory | |
| Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star; | |
| For fancy was cheered by traditional story, | 15 |
| Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na Garr. | |
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| “Shades of the dead! have I not heard your voices | |
| Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale?” | |
| Surely the soul of the hero rejoices, | |
| And rides on the wind, o’er his own Highland vale. | 20 |
| Round Loch na Garr while the stormy mist gathers, | |
| Winter presides in his cold icy car! | |
| Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers; | |
| They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr. | |
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| “Ill-starred, though brave, did no visions foreboding | 25 |
| Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause?” | |
| Ah! were you destined to die at Culloden, | |
| Victory crowned not your fall with applause: | |
| Still were you happy in death’s earthy slumber, | |
| You rest with your clan in the caves of Braemar; | 30 |
| The pibroch resounds, to the piper’s loud number, | |
| Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr. | |
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| Years have rolled on, Loch na Garr, since I left you, | |
| Years must elapse ere I tread you again; | |
| Nature of verdure and flowers has bereft you, | 35 |
| Yet still are you dearer than Albion’s plain. | |
| England! thy beauties are tame and domestic | |
| To one who has roved o’er the mountains afar: | |
| O for the crags that are wild and majestic, | |
| The steep frowning glories of dark Loch na Garr! | 40 |
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