Robert Gilfillan Poems

Oh! the happy days o' youth are fast gaun by,
And age is coming on, wi' its bleak winter sky;
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Fare thee well, for I must leave thee;
But, oh, let not our parting grieve thee;
Happier days may yet be mine,
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Oh! why left I my hame?
Why did I cross the deep?
Oh! why left I the land
Where my forefathers sleep?
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'Tis the first rose of summer that opes to my view,
With its bright crimson bosom all bathed in the dew;
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Where Manor stream rins blithe an' clear,
And Castlehill's white wa's appear,
I spent ae day, aboon a' days,
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