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 they are scared to freedom and love:
Yet, Caledonia; beloved are thy mountains,
Round their white summits though elements war;
Though cataracts foam 'stead of smooth-flowing fountains,
I sigh for the valley of dark Loch Nagar.
Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wander'd;
My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid;
On chieftans long perish'd my memory ponder'd.
As daily I strode through the pine cover'd glade.
I sought not my home, till the day's dying glory
Gave praise to the rays of the bright polar star;
For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story,
Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch Nagar.
|