Page:Traveller's return (1).pdf/2



silent Time, wi’ lightly foot.

Had trod on thirty years,

My native land I sought again,

Wi’ mony hopes and fears.

Wha kens, thought I, if friends I left

Will aye continue mine;

Or gin I e’er again shall meet

The joys I left langsyne.

As I drew near my ancient pile,

My heart beat a’ the way;

Ilk place I pass’d seem’d yet to speak

Of some dear former day;

Those days that follow’d me afar.

Those happy days of mine;

Which made me think the joys at hand

Were naething to lang syne.

My ivied tow’rs now met my een,

Where minstrels us’d to blaw,

Nae friend stept put wi’ open arm's—

Nae weel kend face I saw-—

Till Donald totter’d to the door,

Whom I left in his prime;