The Rowan Tree.
[Music arranged by Finlay Dun, and John Thomson.]
Oh, Rowan tree! Oh, Rowan tree! thou'lt aye be dear to me,
Intwined thou art wi' mony ties, o' hame and infancy;
Thy leaves were aye the first o' spring, thy flow'rs the simmer's pride,
There was nae sic a bonnie tree, in a' the countrie side.
Oh, Rowan tree! &c.
How fair wert thou in simmer time, wi' a' thy clusters white,
How rich and gay thy autumn dress, wi' berries red and bright,
We sat aneath thy spreading shade, the bairnies round thee ran;
They pu'd thy bonnie berries red, and necklaces they strang.
Oh, Rowan tree! &c.
On thy fair stem were mony names, which now nae mair I see,
But they're engraven on my heart, forgot they ne'er can be!
My mother! oh! I see her still, she smil'd our sports to see;
Wi' little Jeanie on her lap, wi' Jamie at her knee!
Oh, Rowan tree! &c.
Oh! there arose my father's prayer, in holy evening's calm,
How sweet was then my mothers voice, in the Martyr's psalm;
Now a' are gane! we meet nae mair aneath the Rowan tree,
But hallowed thoughts around thee twine o' hame and infancy,
Oh, Rowan tree! &c.
The Emigrant's Complaint.
[Words by R. Gilfillan, Composed by P. McLeod.]
Oh, why left I my hame? Why did I cross the deep?
Oh, why left I the land where my forefathers sleep?
I sigh for Scotia's shore, and I gaze across the sea,
But I canna get a blink o' my ain countrie.
The palm-tree waveth high, and fair the myrtle springs,
And to the Indian maid the bulbul sweetly sings;
But I dinna see the broom wi' its tassels on the lea,
Nor hear the lintie's sang o' my ain countrie.
Oh! here no Sabbath bell awakes the Sabbath morn,
Nor song of reapers heard among the yellow corn:
For the tyrant's voice is here, and the wail of slaverie;
But the sun of freedom shines in my ain countrie.
There's a hope for every woe, and a balm for ev'ry pain,
But the first joys of our heart come never back again.
There's a track upon the deep, and a path across the sea,
But the weary ne'er return to their ain countrie.
