The Farewell.
[J. Burtt.—Tune, "Jockie's far awa'."]
O welcome winter! wi' thy storms,
Thy frosts, an' hills o' sna';
Dismantle nature o' her charms,
For I maun lea' them a'.
I've mourn'd the gowan wither'd laid
Upon its wallow bier;
I've seen the rose-bud drooping fade
Beneath the dewy tear.
Then fare ye weel, my frien's sae dear,
For I maun lea'e you a'.
O will ye sometimes shed a tear
For me, when far awa'?
For me, when far frae hame and you,
Where ceaseless tempests blaw,
Will ye repeat my last adieu,
An' mourn that I'm awa'?
I've seen the wood, where rude winds rave,
In gay green mantle drest,
But now its leafless branches wave
Wild whistling in the blast:
So perish'd a' my youthfu' joy,
An' left me thus to mourn:
The vernal sun will gild the sky,
But joy will ne'er return.
Then fare ye weel, &c.
In vain will spring her gowans spread
Owre the green swairded lea:
The rose beneath the hawthorn shade
Will bloom in vain for me:
In vain will spring bedeck the bowers
Wi' buds and blossoms braw—
The gloomy storm already lowers
That drives me far awa'.
Then fare ye weel, &c.
O winter! spare the peacefu' scene
Where early joys I knew:
Still be its fields unfading green,
Its sky unclouded blue.
Ye lads and lasses! when sae blythe
The social crack ye ca'—
O spare the tribute of a sigh
For me, when far awa'!
Then fare ye weel, &c.