8
Why, the forest and hill,
And the vallies ring still
Still echo his ditties of love,
Well a well a day,
Still echo his ditties of love.
The sad sound of echo I'll shun,
Robin Gray,
It's dying notes live on my mind;
Can you then as you roam,
From your forefathers home,
Leave your country's feeling behind,
Well a well a day,
Leave your country's feeling behind.
Still the blackbird shall sing on the thorn,
Robin Gray,
And the lark early carol on high,
But the lowly lodg'd swain,
As he scatters his grain,
Will chant Robin's verse with a sigh,
Well a well a day,
Will chant Robin's verse with a sigh,
Soft lies on his bosom the turf,
Robin Gray,
Rest his ashes unmingled and pure!
May the tomb of his urn
Calendonia adorn,
And his much lov'd remains ay secure!
Well a well a day!
And his much lov'd remains ay secure!
