The Book of Scottish Song/Farewell to Avondale

Farewell to Avondale.

[Andrew Simson.]

Farewell, ye vales where Avon flows,
⁠Farewell, ye hills that rise around,
Farewell, abodes of sweet repose,
⁠Where innocence and peace abound.
No more beside your streams I'll stray,
⁠Nor pu' the wild flowers as they blaw;
No longer listen to the lay,
⁠That's carol'd through the birken shaw.

Farewell, Pomilion's flowery braes,
⁠Whose murmuring rills so sweetly fa',
Where aft I've spent the summer days,
⁠When sorrow's hand was far awa'!
Thou'st listen'd to the lover's wail,
⁠As am'rously thou glided through;
Thou'st listen'd to my artless tale,
⁠But never heard'st a tale so true.

Farewell, thou dear ungratefii' maid,
⁠Thou'lt mind me when I'm far awa';
And but for thee, I might have staid,
⁠To breathe the gales that round thee blaw.
Thou knew'st my heart was a' thy ain,
⁠And thine thou vow'dst was mine alone;
But cursed gold has made us twain,
⁠Whom heaven had fated to be one.

Farewell, thou still beloved maid,
⁠Love, rage, and grief, my soul disarms;
For never, never could I've staid,
⁠To see thee in another's arms.
No more by Avon's streams we'll stray,
⁠Nor pu' the wild flowers as they blaw;
No longer listen to the lay,
⁠That's carol'd through the birken shaw.

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