Page:Lyra heroica.djvu/345

 On Aikenshaw the sun blinks braw,

The burn rins blithe and fain: There's nought wi' me I wadna gie

To look thereon again.

On Keilder-side the wind blaws wide:

There sounds nae hunting-horn That rings sae sweet as the winds that beat

Round banks where Tyne is born.

The Wansbeck sings with all her springs

The bents and braes give ear; But the wood that rings wi' the sang she sings

I may not see nor hear; For far and far thae blithe burns are,

And strange is a' thing near.

The light there lightens, the day there brightens,

The loud wind there lives free : Nae light comes nigh me or wind blaws by me

That I wad hear or see.

But O gin I were there again,

Afar ayont the faem, Cauld and dead in the sweet saft bed

That haps my sires at hame !

We'll see nae mair the sea-banks fair,

And the sweet grey gleaming sky, And the lordly strand of Northumberland,

And the goodly towers thereby ; And none shall know but the winds that blow

The graves wherein we lie.

�� �