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ROBT. REID.
Oh for the hills o'
Wanloek,
I' the blythesome days o' spring!
Oh for the young life quicken in' there
In ilka moorland thing!
Fleet were the feet that trod the bent,
And blythe were the shouts that rang
On the dawn-flusht hills o' Wanlock,
When life was a schule-bairn's sang.
Oh for the hills o'
Wanlock,
I' the gowden simmer time!
Oh for the lead hearts link'd wi' mine
In manhood's happy prime!
Fair lay the wand afore us then,
And fair was the lift abune;
When day chased day to its dewy close
Like the notes o' a canty tune.
Oh for the hills o'
Wanlock,
I' the dowie and wae back-en'!
Oh for the ghaist & the vanisht things That tai
le in ilka glen
Feet lang i the mools keep pace wi' mine,
And the tongues o' the deid I hear
I' the lown forenichts in Wanlock,
I' the hin'-en' o' the year!
Oh for the hills o'
Wanlock,
I' the rain-blash, and the snaw
Alane wi' my thochts on the bare muirside
When the gurly nicht haps a':
Mirk maitters nocht, nor the eerie win',
Nor yet suld the snaw-flecks flee;
For it's Wanlock, Wanlock, Wanlock
I'll yirn for, till I dee! |
