| |
| WHEN silent time, wi’ lightly foot, | |
| Had trod on thirty years, | |
| I sought again my native land | |
| Wi’ mony hopes and fears. | |
| Wha kens gin the dear friends I left | 5 |
| May still continue mine? | |
| Or gin I e’er again shall taste | |
| The joys I left langsyne? | |
| |
| As I drew near my ancient pile, | |
| My heart beat a’ the way; | 10 |
| Ilk place I passed seemed yet to speak | |
| O’ some dear former day:— | |
| Those days that followed me afar, | |
| Those happy days o’ mine, | |
| Whilk made me think the present joys | 15 |
| A’ naething to langsyne. | |
| |
| The ivied tower now met my eye, | |
| Where minstrels used to blaw; | |
| Nae friend stepped forth wi’ open hand. | |
| Nae weel-kenned face I saw, | 20 |
| Till Donald tottered to the door, | |
| Wham I left in his prime, | |
| And grat to see the lad return | |
| He bore about langsyne. | |
| |
| I ran to ilka dear friend’s room, | 25 |
| As if to find them there; | |
| I knew where ilk ane used to sit, | |
| And hung o’er mony a chair; | |
| Till soft remembrance threw a veil | |
| Across these een o’ mine— | 30 |
| I closed the door, and sobbed aloud, | |
| To think on auld langsyne. | |
| |
| Some pensy chiels, a new-sprung race, | |
| Wad next their welcome pay, | |
| Wha shuddered at my Gothic wa’s, | 35 |
| And wished my groves away. | |
| ‘Cut, cut,’ they cried, ‘those aged elms, | |
| Lay low yon mournfu’ pine!’ | |
| ‘Na, na! our fathers’ names grow there, | |
| Memorials o’ langsyne.’ | 40 |
| |
| To wean me fra these waefu’ thoughts | |
| They took me to the town, | |
| But sair on ilka weel-kenned face | |
| I missed the youthfu’ bloom. | |
| At balls they pointed to a nymph | 45 |
| Wham a’ declared divine: | |
| But sure her mother’s blushing cheeks | |
| Were fairer far langsyne! | |
| |
| In vain I sought in music’s sound | |
| To find that magic art | 50 |
| Which oft in Scotland’s ancient lays | |
| Has thrilled through a’ my heart. | |
| The sang had mony an artfu’ turn: | |
| My ear confessed ’twas fine; | |
| But missed the simple melody | 55 |
| I listened to langsyne. | |
| |
| Ye sons to comrades o’ my youth, | |
| Forgi’e an auld man’s spleen, | |
| Wha midst your gayest scenes still mourns | |
| The days he ance has seen. | 60 |
| When time has passed, and seasons fled, | |
| Your hearts will feel like mine; | |
| And aye the sang will maist delight | |
| That minds ye o’ lang syne. | |
| |
