Robert Burns

The Banks of Nith (To thee, lov’d Nith, thy gladsome plains)

To thee, lov’d Nith, thy gladsome plains,
  Where late wi’ careless thought I rang’d,
Though prest wi’ care and sunk in woe,
  To thee I bring a heart unchang’d.

I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes,
  Tho’ mem’ry there my bosom tear;
For there he rov’d that brake my heart,
  Yet to that heart, ah, still how dear!