O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide,
That day I was my Willie’s bride,
And years sinsynehaeo’er us run,
Like Logan to the simmersun:
But now thy flowery banks appear
Like drumlieWinter, dark and drear,
While my dear lad maunface his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.
Again the merry month of May
Has made our hills and valleys gay;
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers,
The bees hum round the breathing flowers;
Blythe Morning lifts his rosy eye,
And Evening’s tears are tears o’ joy:
My soul, delightless a’surveys,
While Willie’s far frae Logan braes.
Within yonmilk-white hawthorn bush,
Amangher nestlings sits the thrush:
Her faithfu’ mate will share her toil,
Orwi’ his song her cares beguile;
But I wi’my sweet nurslings here,
Nae mate to help, naemate to cheer,
Pass widow’d nights and joyless days,
While Willie’s far fraeLogan braes.
O waebe to you, Men o’State,
That brethren rouse to deadly hate!
As ye make mony a fond heart mourn,
Saemay it on your heads return!
How can your flinty hearts enjoy
The widow’s tear, the orphan’s cry?
Butsoon may peace bring happy days,
And Willie hameto Logan braes!