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| WHY did I leave fair Branksome’s towers, | |
| Why did I leave sweet Teviot glen, | |
| Its daisied banks and hazel bowers, | |
| Kind collie, plaid, and blithe sheep-pen? | |
| O, there is not a rushy den, | 5 |
| Clear wimpling burn, or brier brake, | |
| But in my bosom stirs a train | |
| Of mournful thoughts that make it ache. | |
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| Oft, dreams of Albion’s sea-bound isle | |
| Steal o’er my slumber with their balm; | 10 |
| I hear a song, I meet a smile, | |
| At bughting in the gloaming-calm. | |
| Anon the reverential psalm, | |
| From straw-thatched cot, will fancy hear, | |
| And kneeling low with joinéd palm, | 15 |
| Breathe the heart-uttered prayer sincere. | |
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| Then round me gathered faces dear, | |
| That kindly words of welcome speak; | |
| My father’s smile,—the glistening tear | |
| Of gladness on my mother’s cheek. | 20 |
| One form my wandering eye doth seek, | |
| My plighted Marion,—“nearest, best, | |
| Come hither with those looks so meek, | |
| And let me fold thee to my breast.” * * * * * | |
| Could I again in Teviot vale | 25 |
| Wander when gloaming hour was near, | |
| And hearken to the cushat’s wail, | |
| Or blackbird piping to his dear, | |
| Or listen with delighted ear | |
| The soaring laverock’s vesper song, | 30 |
| Blent with the lintie’s warblings clear, | |
| That pipes the yellow broom among,— | |
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| Then light of heart and lithe of limb, | |
| I ’d belt my plaid and grasp my kent, | |
| And by the holy twilight dim, | 35 |
| Would hie me to the upland bent. | |
| There with the star-gemmed firmament | |
| Above me for my temple dome, | |
| I ’d kneel and ask of heaven,—content,— | |
| A shepherd’s lot and Scottish home. | 40 |
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