Robert Gilfillan

Robert Gilfillan Poems

Oh! the happy days o' youth are fast gaun by,
And age is coming on, wi' its bleak winter sky;
...

Fare thee well, for I must leave thee;
But, oh, let not our parting grieve thee;
Happier days may yet be mine,
...

Oh! why left I my hame?
Why did I cross the deep?
Oh! why left I the land
Where my forefathers sleep?
...

'Tis the first rose of summer that opes to my view,
With its bright crimson bosom all bathed in the dew;
...

Where Manor stream rins blithe an' clear,
And Castlehill's white wa's appear,
I spent ae day, aboon a' days,
...

Robert Gilfillan Biography

Robert Gilfillan (7 July 1798 – 4 December 1850) was a poet and songwriter, born at Dunfermline, Scotland, and latterly a collector of the police rates at Leith. He wrote a number of Scottish songs, and was favourably mentioned in Noctes Ambrosianae (see Wilson, J.). He was the author of the beautiful song, Oh, why left I my Hame?. He published a 150-page book of songs in 1831, which garnered sufficient acclaim to spur publication of a longer version in 1835, and another in 1839. This article incorporates public domain text from : Cousin, John William (1910). A Short Biographical Dictionary of English Literature. London, J. M. Dent & Sons; New York, E. P. Dutton.)

The Best Poem Of Robert Gilfillan

The Happy Days O' Youth

Oh! the happy days o' youth are fast gaun by,
And age is coming on, wi' its bleak winter sky;
An' whar shall we shelter frae its storms when they blaw,
When the gladsome days o' youth are flown awa'?

They said that wisdom cam wi' manhood's riper years,
But naething did they tell o' its sorrows an' tears;
Oh! I 'd gie a' the wit, gif ony wit be mine,
For ae sunny morning o' bonnie langsyne.

I canna dow but sigh, I canna dow but mourn,
For the blithe happy days that never can return;
When joy was in the heart, an' love was on the tongue,
An' mirth on ilka face, for ilka face was young.

Oh! the bonnie weaving broom, whaur aften we did meet,
Wi' its yellow flowers that fell like gowd 'mang our feet;
The bird would stop its sang, but only for a wee,
As we gaed by its nest, 'neath its ain birk-tree.

Oh! the sunny days o' youth, they couldna aye remain--
There was ower meikle joy and ower little pain;
Sae fareweel, happy days! an' fareweel, youthfu' glee!
The young may court your smiles, but ye 're gane frae me.

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