"COME AWA' HAME, DONALD, LEA' US NA MAIR"
Come awa' hame, Donald; 'tis weary I'm grown,
The hours hae been mony sin' ye left me here alone;
Nine times the heather's purple has flecked the hills wi' bloom,
Nine times the cauld o' winter has chilled me wi' its gloom.
The hours hae been mony sin' ye left me here alone;
Nine times the heather's purple has flecked the hills wi' bloom,
Nine times the cauld o' winter has chilled me wi' its gloom.
Ye hae been lang awa', but I ken ye'll nae forget
How your mither waits your comin' before her sun sha' set;
Ye could nae thus hae' staid had ye ken'd how sad and sair
Grows a mither's heart while fearin' her bairn wad come na mair.
How your mither waits your comin' before her sun sha' set;
Ye could nae thus hae' staid had ye ken'd how sad and sair
Grows a mither's heart while fearin' her bairn wad come na mair.
Ye've nae forgot the Hielands, in that land ayont the sea,
Nor the wee bit cote adoun the vale, beneath the braid auld tree;
Nor the ingle where thy sire, a-wearied frae the field,
Finds rest and such glad peacefu'ness as hame alone can yield.
Nor the wee bit cote adoun the vale, beneath the braid auld tree;
Nor the ingle where thy sire, a-wearied frae the field,
Finds rest and such glad peacefu'ness as hame alone can yield.
The daisies lift their faces frae out yon garden bed,
And the birdies in their nests are warblin' owrehead;
And the cry my heart is sendin' has aye this burden sair,—
Come awa' to your hame, Donald, and lea' us na mair.
And the birdies in their nests are warblin' owrehead;
And the cry my heart is sendin' has aye this burden sair,—
Come awa' to your hame, Donald, and lea' us na mair.
Your father's nae sae bonny, an' my locks are growin' grey,
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