Scarborough Settler's Lament

Away wi' Canada's muddy creeks

And Canada's fields of pine

Your land of wheat is a goodly land,

But oh, it is not mine

The heathy hill, the grassy date.

The daisy spangled lea, the purling burn and craggy linn, auld

Scotland's glens give me.

Oh, I would like to hear again the lark on Tinny's hill

And see the wee bit gowany that blooms beside the rill.

Like banished Swill who view afar his Alps with longing e'e.

I gaze upon the morning star that shines on my country.

No more I'll win by Eskdale glen or Pentland's craggy comb.

The days can ne'er come back again of thirty years that's gone,

But fancy oft at midnight hour will steal across the sea.

And yestereve, in a pleasant dream, I saw the old country.

Each well-known scene that met my view brought childhood's joys to mind.

The blackbird sang on Tushey linn the song he sang, 'lang syne.'

But like a dream time flies away, again, the morning came.

And I awoke in Canada, three thousand miles frae hame.