Away with 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 dale
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 views 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.
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 from hame.