_To JOHN PATERSON, Blantyre,_
_From ROBERT WANLOCK REID, Montreal._
Auld freen o' mine across the sea,
What ails ye that ye never write?
Ye canna hae forgotten me
Or hoo tae speak in black an' white.
Come, roose ye, man! an' gie's yer crack,
I'm aye richt fain tae hear frae you,
An' I'll engage tae post ye back
Three sheets for yin, an' cram them fu'.
Hech! but the times hae greatly changed
Since oor acquaintanceship began;
Then blithely owre the hills we ranged
In yon wee glen whaur Wanlock ran.
Sma' thocht had we that stormy seas
Wad ever rowe oor steps atween;
When lichtsome as the simmer breeze
We gaed an' cam' at morn an' e'en.
Noo at yer ain fireside ye sit,
A douce guidman, 'mang wife an' weans,
Rockin' the cradle wi' yer fit
Or listenin' as the lassock learns;
While I upon a foreign soil,
Across the wild Atlantic faem,
In lanely exile, cheerless, toil
An' dream o' hame, an' dream o' hame.
In ilka letter that comes owre
I'm tauld o' something changin' there;
Some ferlie mak's me start an' glower,
Some waefu' stories vex me sair.
The lassies that we looed hae wed,
The lads we kent are buirdly men;
Some auld guidwives an' carles are deid,
We'll ne'er their faces see again.
But, John, the hills are yonder yet,
The grand auld hills we looed sae weel,
That you an' I wi' lichtsome fit,
Fu' mony an' mony a time did spiel;
An' thro' the glen as blithely still
The bonnie burn gangs wimplin' doon,
Whaur aft we tried oor fisher skill,
Or listened tae its eerie croon.
Ilk stream or hicht can raise in me
Dreams o' the past that ye hae shared--
Sweet dreams o' youth an' thochtless glee
Ere we for walth or wisdom cared.
There's Enterkin, Powtrail, an' Daur,
An' Carron's Linns, an' Katie's Well,
An' Mennock Water, Clyde, an' Snar,
An' mony anither burn an' hill.
An' ilka time I hear them named
Away across the surgin' sea,
Like some wild bird but halflins tamed.
Sick o' the toon, my fancies flee;
An' in the gloamin' fa' yince mair,
Yince mair I hear the linty sing,
An' hearken' thro' the startled air
The muircock flee on whirrin' wing.
Noo, will ye lay yer loof in mine
An' mak' a tryst this day wi' me,
Tae meet, as aft we did langsyne,
This time twa years, gin I be free?
Tae see yince mair the heichs an' howes,
Dear scenes o' many a youthfu' ploy,
Whaur young love pledged its early vows,
An' life was nocht but smiles an' joy.
We'll see oor lassies a' grown douce,
Oor auld folks wearin' thirt an' grey,
Ilk dear kenspeckle face, an' hoose,
Ilk singin' burn, an' sunny brae.
We'll rin the hills, like herds gane wud,
We're young yet an' as yaul as then;
An' gin we're in the fishin' tid,
We'll try the rod an' line again.
While lazy loons lie still an' snore,
An' dream, the gowden dawn away,
We'll loup the burn at Greenshields' door,
An' bauldly briest the Wungate Brae.
Far owre the Lowthers mony a mile,
An' deep within his lanesome glen,
Auld Daur comes doon in kingly style;
We'll try nae waters but his ain.
An' when we pairt, as pairt we maun,
Aiblins for ever--wha can tell?--
We'll tak' ilk ither by the han'
An' kindly bid a lang farewell.
An' in the herts o' baith, I ken,
The memory o' that day will be
A link that binds tae Wanlock Glen
Twa lovin' cronies, till they dee.