CHIM1NGS OF THE HEATHER BELLS. 



Torn away frae Scotia's mountains, 



Far frae a' that's dear to dwall, 

 Mak's my e'en twa gushin fountains 



Dings a dirk in my poor saul. 

 Braes o' bracken, hills o' Heather, 



Howms whare rows the gowden wave, 

 Blissful scenes farewell forever! 



I maun seek an unco grave. 



Thomas Mounsey Cunningham. 



Farewell to the Land 



Farewell to the land of the rock and the wildwood, 



The hill and the forest, and proud swelling wave ; 

 To the land where bliss smil'd on the days of my child- 

 hood, 



Farewell to thee, Scotia, thou land of the brave. 

 Far dearer to me are thy heath-cover'd mountains 



Than Gallia's rich valleys and gray fertile plains ; 

 And dearer by far than the murmuring fountains 



The roar of the torrent where liberty reigns. 



Wherever I wander, sweet isle of the ocean, 



My thoughts still shall turn to thy wild rocky 



shore ; 

 Ah ! still shall my heart beat with fondest emotion 



While musing on scenes I may visit no more. 

 Adieu, then, dear land of romance and wild story, 



Thy welfare and honor forever shall be 

 The pray'r of an exile, whose boast and whose glory 

 Is the tie that still binds him, lov'd country, to 

 thee. 



Author Unknown. 

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