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.
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