John Imlah

O, Gin I Were Where Gadie Rins!

O, GIN I were where Gadie rins,
Where Gadie rins, where Gadie rins,—
O, gin I were where Gadie rins
      By the foot o’ Bennachie!

I ’ve roamed by Tweed, I ’ve roamed by Tay,
By border Nith, and highland Spey,
But dearer far to me than they
      The braes o’ Bennachie.

When blade and blossoms sprout in spring,
And bid the burdies wag the wing,
They blithely bob, and soar, and sing
      By the foot o’ Bennachie.

When simmer cleeds the varied scene
Wi’ licht o’ gow’d and leaves o’ green,
I fain would be where aft I ’ve been,
      At the foot o’ Bennachie.

When autumn’s yellow sheaf is shorn,
And barnyards stored wi’ stocks o’ corn,
’T is blithe to toom the clyack horn
      At the foot o’ Bennachie.

When winter winds blaw sharp and shrill
O’er icy burn and sheeted hill,
The ingle neuk is gleesome still
      At the foot o’ Bennachie.

Though few to welcome me remain,
Though a’ I loved be dead and gane,
I ’ll back, though I should live alane,
      To the foot o’ Bennachie.

O, gin I were where Gadie rins,
Where Gadie rins, where Gadie rins,—
O, gin I were where Gadie rins
      By the foot o’ Bennachie!