YE sweeping vales and moorland dells,
Again among ye I sojourn,
Ye craggy steeps and rugged hills,
Where time hath deep'ning furrows worn
Your frown majestic I adore,
My heart exults in scenes like these,
As from the heights I scan them o'er,
And breathe the balmy mountain breeze.
I view the dreary dark domain,
Where nature seems to dwell alone,
And hold her solitary reign,
Around this ancient druid stone.
Perhaps she claims it as a throne,
And here amid the heather bloom
She hears the murder'd moorcock's moan,
And inly mourns its early doom.
Proud Scotland boasts her highland scenes,
Ben Lomond and Ben Nevis grand,
And where undaunted freedom reigns,
The towering heights of Switzerland.
I grudge not these though yet sublime,
And though their grandeur nothing lacks,
Give me but Greenfield rocks to climb,
And shelter snug at Bill's o'Jack's.
