GILFILLAN
Oh! why left I my hame?Why did I cross the deep?Oh! why left I the landWhere my forefathers sleep?I sigh for Scotia’s shore,And I gaze across the sea,But I canna get a blinkO’ my ain countrie.The palm-tree waveth high,And fair the myrtle springs;And to the Indian maidThe bulbul sweetly sings.But I dinna see the broom,Wi’ its tassels on the lea;Nor hear the linties’ sangO’ my ain countrie.Oh! here no Sabbath bellAwakes the Sabbath morn,Nor sang of reapers heardAmang the yellow corn;For the tyrant’s voice is here,And the wail o’ slaverie;But the sun o’ freedom shinesIn my ain countrie.There’s a hope for every woe,And a balm for every pain;But the first joys of our heartCome never back again.There’s a track upon the deep,And a path across the sea;But for me there’s nae returnTo my ain countrie.Robert Gilfillan.
Oh! why left I my hame?Why did I cross the deep?Oh! why left I the landWhere my forefathers sleep?I sigh for Scotia’s shore,And I gaze across the sea,But I canna get a blinkO’ my ain countrie.The palm-tree waveth high,And fair the myrtle springs;And to the Indian maidThe bulbul sweetly sings.But I dinna see the broom,Wi’ its tassels on the lea;Nor hear the linties’ sangO’ my ain countrie.Oh! here no Sabbath bellAwakes the Sabbath morn,Nor sang of reapers heardAmang the yellow corn;For the tyrant’s voice is here,And the wail o’ slaverie;But the sun o’ freedom shinesIn my ain countrie.There’s a hope for every woe,And a balm for every pain;But the first joys of our heartCome never back again.There’s a track upon the deep,And a path across the sea;But for me there’s nae returnTo my ain countrie.Robert Gilfillan.
Oh! why left I my hame?Why did I cross the deep?Oh! why left I the landWhere my forefathers sleep?I sigh for Scotia’s shore,And I gaze across the sea,But I canna get a blinkO’ my ain countrie.
The palm-tree waveth high,And fair the myrtle springs;And to the Indian maidThe bulbul sweetly sings.But I dinna see the broom,Wi’ its tassels on the lea;Nor hear the linties’ sangO’ my ain countrie.
Oh! here no Sabbath bellAwakes the Sabbath morn,Nor sang of reapers heardAmang the yellow corn;For the tyrant’s voice is here,And the wail o’ slaverie;But the sun o’ freedom shinesIn my ain countrie.
There’s a hope for every woe,And a balm for every pain;But the first joys of our heartCome never back again.There’s a track upon the deep,And a path across the sea;But for me there’s nae returnTo my ain countrie.
Robert Gilfillan.