Harry returned, as servant tae the Laird,
Finds, for a whyle, his presence may be spar'd,
An here, his lane, he wanders o'er each scene,
Whar first he lov'd and fondly wood his Jean;
He sees her cot, and fain wad venture in,
But weel he minds her mither's no his frien.
Harry. Tir'd with the painful sight of human ills,
Hail CALEDONIA! hail my native hills!
Here exil'd Virtue rears her humble cell,
With Nature's jocund, honest sons to dwell ;
And Hospitality, with open door,
Invites the stranger and the wand'ring poor ;
Tho winter scowls along our northern sky,
In hardships rear'd we learn humanity:
Nor dare deceit here point her rankling dart,
A Scotsman's eye's the window of his heart.—
When fate and adverse fortune bore me far,
O'er field and flood to join the din of war,
My young heart sickened, gloomy was my mind,
My love, my friends, my country all behind.
But whether tost upon the briny flood,
Or dragged to combat in the scene of blood,
HOPE, like an angel, charmed my cares away,
And pointed forward to this happy day.
Full well I mind the breckan skirted thorn,
That sheds its milk white blossoms by the burn,
There first my heart life's highest bliss did prove,
Twas there my Jeanie, blushing, owned her love.
The dark green plantin on the mountain's brow,
The yellow whins an broomy knowes below,
Bring to my mind the happy, happy days,
I spent with her upon these rural braes—
But while remembrance thus my bosom warms,
I long to clasp my charmer in my arms. [Exit.