But dearer far tae my twa een Was the ragged sleeve of red and green O’er that young weary hand that fain, With the guid broadsword, had found its ain.
Farewell for ever, the distance gray And the lapping ocean seemed to say-- For him a home in a foreign land, And for me one kiss of the king’s hand.
The sky in beauty arch’d The wide and weltering flood, While the winds in triumph march’d Through their pathless solitude-- Rousing up the plume on ocean’s hoary crest, That like space in darkness slept, When his watch old Silence kept, Ere the earliest planet leapt From its breast.
A speck is on the deeps, Like a spirit in her flight; How beautiful she keeps Her stately path in light! She sweeps the shining wilderness in glee-- The sun has on her smiled, And the waves, no longer wild, Sing in glory round that child Of the sea.
’Twas at the set of sun That she tilted o’er the flood, Moving like God alone O’er the glorious solitude-- The billows crouch around her as her slaves How exulting are her crew!-- Each sight to them is new, As they sweep along the blue Of the waves.
Fair herald of the fleets That yet shall cross the waves, Till the earth with ocean meets One universal grave, What armaments shall follow thee in joy! Linking each distant land With trade’s harmonious band, Or bearing havoc’s brand To destroy!
I’m wearin’ awa, John, Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John, I’m wearin’ awa To the land o’ the leal.
There’s nae sorrow there, John, There’s neither cauld nor care, John, The day is aye fair In the land o’ the leal.
Our bonnie bairn’s there, John, She was baith gude and fair, John, And, oh, we grudged her sair To the land o’ the leal.
But sorrow’s sel’ wears past, John, And joy’s a-comin’ fast, John, The joy that’s aye to last, In the land o’ the leal.
Oh, dry your glist’ning ee, John, My saul langs to be free, John, And Angels beckon me To the land o’ the leal.
O haud ye leal and true, John, Your day it’s wearin’ through, John, And I’ll welcome you To the land o’ the leal.
Now fare-ye-weel, my ain John, The warld’s cares are vain, John, We’ll meet and we’ll be fain In the land o’ the leal.
My heart is yearning to thee, O Skye! Dearest of Islands! There first the sunshine gladdened my eye, On the sea sparkling; There doth the dust of my dear ones lie, In the old graveyard.