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Again on the mountains, tho' speckled wi' snaw,

Mid the whir o' the pertrick an' ptarmigan's craw;

The mists o' the morning alang their sides streik,

An' mingle their locks wi' the blue Peat-reek.

The wind-flower is blushin', the primrose blinks forth,

As envious Winter maun creep farther north;

The rain frae the hills gies the burn a bit eik,

An it soughs o' the days o' the auld Peat-reek.

When life was a budlet, an' a'thing was new,

An' daily our Glen brought its wonders to view;

When thro' the wee lozen the sunbeam wad keik,

We gazed on the motes, as they reeled in the Reek.

Oh, blythe war the days when we hied to the moss;

For, fast as the caster the green peats wad toss,

We rowed them awa' in the winraws to beik,

That Winter might smile thro' the warm Peat-reek.

Then roun' the kail-bicker we a' wad convene,

In the eyes of Affection, like olive-plants green;

The chapter was read ere our eyelids wad steik,

An' we praised Him that fed us beside the Peat-reek.

When youngsters shot up, an' nae room could be foun'

The only resource was the gun or the toun;

Then blessing an' farewell the tongue scarce could speak,

An' the last glimpse o' hame was its blue Peat-reek.

The whirl o' the warkshop lang daivert the head,

An' the roar o' the causeway wad deave ane to dead;

The sulphur-coal smoke clouded day's cauler skreik,

An' sair lang'd the heart for the blue Peat-reek.