This page has been validated.
4
Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose
Fu’ sweet upon its thorny tree;
And my fause lover stole my rose,
But ah! he left the thorn wi’ me.
———
THE BANKS OF NITH.
The Thames flows proudly to the sea,
Where royal cities stately stand;
But sweeter flows the Nith to me,
Where Cummins ance had high command:
When shall I see that honoured land,
That winding stream I love so dear!
Must wayward fortune’s adverse hand
For ever, ever keep me here.
How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vale,
Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloom;
How sweetly wind thy sloping dales
Where lambkins wanton thro’ the broom!
Tho’ wandering, now, must be my doom,
Far from thy bonnie banks and braes
May there my latest hours consume,
Amang the friends of early days!
