Bessie.
[From "The Storm, and other Poems, by Francis Bennoch," London, 1841.]
Oh mony a year has come an' gane,
An' mony a weary day,
Sin' frae my hame—my mountain hame—
I first was lured away,
To wander over unco lands,
Far, far ayont the sea;
But no' to find a land like this,
The hame o' Bess an' me!
I've traversed mony a dreary land
Across the braid, braid sea;
But, oh, my native Highland home,
My thochts were aye wi' thee!
As constant as the sun did rise
And set ahint the sea,
Sae constant, Bessie, were my prayers
At morn an' nicht for thee!
When I return'd unto my hame,
The hills were clad wi' snow;
Though they look'd cold and cheerless, love,
My heart was in a glow:
Though keen the wintry north wind blew,
Like summer 'twas to me,
For, Bess, my frame was warm'd wi' love,
For country, kindred, thee!
Nae flower e'er hail'd wi' sweeter smiles
Returning sunny beams,
Than I did hail my native hame,
Its mountains, woods, and streams.
Now we are met, my bonnie Bess,
We never mair will part;
Although to a' we seem as twa,
We only ha'e ae heart!
We'll be sae loving a' the nicht,
Sae happy a' the day,
That, though our bodies time may change,
Our love shall ne'er decay:
As gently as yon lovely stream
Declining years shall run,
An' life shall pass frae our auld clay
As snow melts 'neath the sun.