Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/977

 WALTER CHALMERS SMITH

There is no bleating of sheep on the hill

Where the mists linger, There is no sound of the low hand-mill

Ground by the women, And the smith's hammer is lying still

By the brown anvil, Glenaradale.

Ah' we must leave thee and go away

Far from Ben Luibh, Far from the graves where we hoped to lay

Our bones with our fathers', Far from the kirk where we used to pray

Lowly together, Glenaradale.

We are not going for hunger of wealth,

For the gold and silver, We are not going to seek for health

On the flat prairies, Nor yet for the lack of fruitful tilth

On thy green pastures, Glenaradale.

Content with the croft and the hill were we,

As all our fathers, Content with the fish in the lake to be

Carefully netted,

And garments spun of the wool from thee, O black-faced wether Of Glenaradale!

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