| |
| THE GLOOMY night is gathering fast, | |
| Loud roars the wild inconstant blast; | |
| You murky cloud is foul with rain, | |
| I see it driving o’er the plain. | |
| The hunter now has left the moor, | 5 |
| The scattered coveys meet secure; | |
| While here I wander, pressed with care, | |
| Along the lonely banks of Ayr. | |
| |
| The Autumn mourns her ripening corn, | |
| By early Winter’s ravage torn; | 10 |
| Across her placid, azure sky, | |
| She sees the scowling tempest fly; | |
| Chill runs my blood to hear it rave,— | |
| I think upon the stormy wave, | |
| Where many a danger I must dare, | 15 |
| Far from the bonny banks of Ayr. | |
| |
| ’T is not the surging billow’s roar, | |
| ’T is not that fatal deadly shore; | |
| Though death in every shape appear, | |
| The wretched have no more to fear! | 20 |
| But round my heart the ties are bound, | |
| That heart transpierced with many a wound; | |
| These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, | |
| To leave the bonny banks of Ayr. | |
| |
| Farewell old Coila’s hills and dales, | 25 |
| Her heathy moors and winding vales; | |
| The scenes where wretched fancy roves, | |
| Pursuing past, unhappy loves! | |
| Farewell, my friends! farewell, my foes! | |
| My peace with these, my love with those: | 30 |
| The bursting tears my heart declare; | |
| Farewell the bonny banks of Ayr! | |
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