The Thames flows proudly to the sea,
Where royal cities stately stand;
Butsweeter flows the Nith to me,
Where Comyns ancehad high command.
When shall I see that honour’d land,
That winding stream I love so dear!
Must wayward Fortune’s adverse hand
For ever, ever keep me here!
How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales,
Where bounding hawthorns gaily bloom;
And sweetly spread thy sloping dales,
Where lambkins wanton throughthe broom.
Tho’ wandering now must be my doom,
Far from thy boniebanks and braes,
May there my latest hours consume,
Amangthe friends of early days!