Bare was our burn brae,
December's blast had blawn,
The last flower was dead,
An' the brown leaf had fa'n:
It was dark in the deep glen,
Hoary was our hill;
An' the win' frae the cauld north,
Cam' heavy and chill:
When I said fare-ye-weel,
To my kith and my kin;
My barque it lay ahead,
An' my cot-house ahin';
I had nought left to tine,
I'd a wide warl' to try;
But my heart it wadna lift,
An' my e'e it wadna dry.
I look'd lang at the ha',
Through the mist o' my tears,
Where the kind lassie lived,
I had run wi' for years;
E'en the glens where we sat,
Wi' their broom-covered knowes,
Took a haud on this heart
That I ne'er can unloose.
I hae wander'd sin' syne,
By gay temples and towers,
Where the ungather'd spice
Scents the breeze in their bowers;
Oh! sic scenes I could leave
Without pain or regret;
But the last look o' hame
I ne'er can forget.