Poem by Robert Nicoll

The Muir o' Gorse and Broom

I WlNNA bide in your castle ha's,
    Nor yet in your lofty towers,—
My heart is sick o' your gloomy hame,
    An' sick o' your darksome bowers;
An' O!  I wish I were far awa'
    Frae their grandeur an' their gloom,
Where the freeborn lintie sings its sang,
    On the muir o' gorse an' broom.

Sae weel as I like the healthfu' gale
    That blads fu' kindly there,
An' the heather brown, an' the wild blue-bell
    That wave on the muirland bare;
An' the singing birds, an' the humming bees,
    An' the little lochs that toom
Their gushin' burns to the distant sea,
    O'er the muir o' gorse an' broom.

O! if I had a dwallin' there,
    Biggit laigh by a burnie's side,
Where ae aik-tree, in the simmer-time,
    Wi' its leaves that hame might hide,—
O!  I wad rejoice frae day to day,
    As blithe as a young bridegroom;
For dearer than palaces to me
    Is the muir o' gorse an' broom!

In a lanely cot on a muirland wild,
    My mither nurtured me:
O' the meek wild-flowers I playmates made,
    An' my hame wi' the wandering bee:
An' O! if I were far awa'
    Frae your grandeur and your gloom,
Wi' them again, an' the bladdin' gale,
    On the muir o' gorse an' broom!

1. The Ha' Bible
2. Our Auld Gudeman
3. The Lass of Turrit Ha’
4. The Hopes of Age
5. My Auld Gudewife

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