Robert Nicoll

The Banks of Tay

THE SHIP is on its seaward path,
  An’ frae the shore the breezes blaw;
Now Scotland’s cliffs sae dear to me
  Aneath the wavin’ waters fa’.
My hame is growin’ far awa’,
  It lies aneath yon hill-tap gray;
Yon last-seen spot o’ Scotland’s soil
  That rises by the banks of Tay.

Fareweel, ye mossy fountains wild!
  Where you fair stream doth softly rin:
To ilka wildwood-shaded pool
  To ilka tumblin’ roarin’ linn;
To ilka burnie that doth win
  Through heathery muirs its silent way,—
I bid fareweel; for now my hame	
  Is biggit far frae bonnie Tay.

Fareweel, ye hames o’ pure delight,
  That I ha’e lo’ed sae weel and lang!
Ye simmer birdies! ye maun sing
  To others now your cheering sang!
Fareweel, ye holms, where lovers gang
  Upon the peaceful Sabbath-day:
In youth I loved, in age I ’ll mind,
  The green an’ bonny banks of Tay.

Be blessin’s on ilk cot an’ ha’
  That by thy braes o’ hazel rise;
Be a’ thing bonnie where thou rins,
  An’ a’ thing happy ’neath thy skies.
Though far frae thee my boatie flies,
  The friends I love beside thee stray;	
My heart fu’ dead an’ cauld will be
  Ere I forget the banks of Tay.

The streams are wide where I am gaun,
  An’ on they row through boundless woods;
But dearer is thy Hieland wave
  Than yonder wild and foreign floods.
Thy haughs sae green,—the simmer clouds
  That o’er thy sheltered hamlets stray,—
I ’ll mind for love an’ friendship’s sake:
  Fareweel, ye bonnie banks of Tay.