THE JOURNEY.

Of broomy knowes and hawthorn dens,
Of burnsides where the linnet's lay,
Is heard the lee lang summer's day,
The scenes which many a simple song,
Still peoples with an airy throng;

And still we hear them tell their tale,

In

every strath and stream and vale, In swells of love, in gusts of woe, Which thrilled my heart so long ago,

And mournful groups around him hung,
Sadly sighing as he sung;

And eyes grew dim, and hearts did swell,
While thus he sung his last farewell.

Farewell Caledonia,

My country farewell!

Adieu every scarred cliff,
And lone rocky fell,

Your dark peaks are fading

Away from my view,

And I ne'er thought I loved you

So dearly till noo;

For fortune does chase me

Across the wild main,

And the blue hills of Scotland

I'll ne'er see again.

29

330

THE EMIGRANT.

Farewell lovely Leven,
Thou vale of my heart,

'Twas hard frae the hame o'
My childhood to part.
Our lowly thatched cottage,
Which stands by the mill,

The green where we gambolled,
The church on the hill;

I loved you, sweet valley,
In sunshine and rain,

But oh I shall never
Behold you again.

How bright were my mornings,
My evenings how calm,

I rose wi' the laverock,

Lay down wi' the lamb;
Was blithe as the lintie

That sings on the tree,
And licht as the goudspink
That lilts on the lee ;

But tears, sighs and sorrow

Are foolish and vain,

For the heart-light o' childhood

Returns not again.

THE JOURNEY.

31

O sad was the morning

When I cam awa',

And big were the tears frae
My e'en that did fa';

My mother was weepin',
My father was wae,
And farewell, my laddie,

Was a' they could say ;

While the tears o'er their haffets

Were fa'in like rain,

For they thocht that they never

Would see me again.

Awa' frae our cottage,
I tried then to steal,

But friens gathered round me

To bid me fareweel;

E'en Towser cam forth wi'

A sorrowfu' whine,

And the auld women said

'Twas a sorrowfu' sign;

It spak o' disaster,

O' sorrow and pain,

And the blue hills o' Scotland

I'd ne'er see again.

32

THE EMIGRANT.

And then when I tarried,

And mournfully took,

Of all the loved scenes my
Last sorrowfu' look,

The hills gathered round me,

As if to embrace,

And the bonnie wee gowans

Looked up in my face;

While the birds 'mang the branches,

In sorrowfu' strain,

Sang oh no, ye'll never

See Scotland again.

CHAPTER III.

THE ARRIVAL.

I.

The weary world of waters past,
In Canada arrived at last,
Pioneers of civilization,

Founders of a mighty nation;

Soon we entered in the woods,
On the trackless solitudes,

Where the spruce and cedar made

An interminable shade ;

And the pine and hemlock stood,

Monarchs of the solitude,

And we picked our way along,

Sometimes right and sometimes wrong;

For a long and weary day,

Thus we journeyed on our way,

Picked a path through swale and swamp,

And at evening fixed our camp;

Where a lovely little spring,

D