Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Scotland: Vols. VI–VIII. 1876–79.

Drumlee

The Braes o’ Drumlee

By Richard Gall (1776–1801)

ERE eild wi’ his blatters had warselled me down,

Or reft me o’ life’s youthfu’ bloom,

How aft ha’e I gane, wi’ a heart louping light,

To the knowes yellow tappit wi’ broom!

How aft ha’e I sat i’ the beild o’ the knowe,

While the laverock mounted sae hie,

An’ the mavis sang sweet in the plantings around,

On the bonnie green braes o’ Drumlee.

But, ah! while we daff in the sunshine of youth,

We see nae the blasts that destroy;

We count nae upon the fell waes that may come,

An eithly o’ercloud a’ our joy.

I saw nae the fause face that fortune can wear,

Till forced from my country to flee;

Wi’ a heart like to burst, while I sobbed, “Farewell

To the bonnie green braes o’ Drumlee!

“Fareweel, ye dear haunts o’ the days o’ my youth,

Ye woods and ye valleys sae fair;

Ye ’ll bloom whan I wander abroad like a ghaist,

Sair niddered wi’ sorrow an’ care.

Ye woods an’ ye valleys, I part wi’ a sigh,

While the flood gushes down frae my e’e;

For never again shall the tear wet my cheek,

On the bonnie green braes o’ Drumlee.

“O Time, could I tether your hours for a wee!

Na, na, for they flit like the wind!”

Sae I took my departure, an’ sauntered awa’,

Yet aften looked wistfu’ behind.

O, sair is the heart of the mither to part

Wi’ the baby that sits on her knee;

But sairer the pang when I took a last peep

O’ the bonnie green braes o’ Drumlee.

I heftit ’mang strangers years thretty-an’-twa,

But naething could banish my care;

An’ aften I sighed when I thought on the past,

Whare a’ was sae pleasant an’ fair.

But now, wae ’s my heart! whan I ’m lyart an’ auld,

An’ fu’ lint-white my haffet-locks flee,

I ’m hamewards returned wi’ a remnant o’ life,

To the bonnie green braes o’ Drumlee.

Poor body! bewildered, I scarcely do ken

The haunts that were dear ance to me;

I yirded a plant in the days o’ my youth,

An’ the mavis now sings on the tree.

But, haith! there ’s nae scenes I wad niffer wi’ thae;

For it fills my fond heart fu’ o’ glee,

To think how at last my auld banes they will rest,

Near the bonnie green braes o’ Drumlee.