One Sunday morning late in May
I on the Calder banks did stray;
Field and forest were in bloom,
An' Nature all in perfect tune;
A glorious sunshine, hum of bees,
An' happy song-birds 'mang the trees;
While from its bed the water's gleam
Enhanced the beauty of the scene.
From scenes like this my thoughts still roam
To childhood's days, to love an' home.
I long, with longing almost pain,
To see those dear old scenes again.
I mind the time when as a child
I roved the hills so free an' wild,
Sacred to martyrs' memory
Who gave their lives for liberty.
There Reid, the Muirland Bard, was born,
Wha sang sae blithe an' cheerie O,
O' hills an' glens, an' muirs an' fens,
An' aiblins o' his dearie, O!
Though I have wandered far from thee,
An' tossed on life's deep stormy sea,
My fondest memories ever turn
To dear old friends by Wanlock burn.