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Roslin’s towers, and braes sae bonnie,
Craigs and water, woods and glen—
Roslin’s banks, unpeered by any,
Save the Muses’ Hawthomdsn!✝
Ilka sound and charm delighting,
Will (though hardly fit to gang)
Wandered on through scenes inviting,
Listening to the mavis’ sang.
Faint at length, the day fast closing,
On a fragrant strawberry steep.
Esk’s sweet stream to rest composing,
Wearied nature drapped asleep.
Soldier, rise—the dews o’ e’ening
Gathering fa’, wi’ deadly scaith;
Wounded soldier, if complaining,
Sleep na here and catch your death.
Traveller, waken—night advancing,
Cleads wi’ gray the neighbouring hill;
Lambs nae mair on knowes are dancing-!
A’ the woods are mute and still.”
“What ha’e I?” cried Willie, waking—
“What ha’e I frae night to dree?
Morn, through clouds in splendour breaking,
Lights nae bright’ning hope to me.
House, nor hame, nor farm, nor steading,
Wife nor bairns ha’e I to see;
House, nor hame, nor bed, nor bedding—
What ha’e I frae night to dree?’
✝The ancient seat of the celebrated poet, William
Drummond, who flourished 1585-1649.
