The Vocal Miscellany (n.d., Glasgow)/Farewell dear Glencowden
Farewell dear Glencowden.
Tune—Humours of Glen.
Farewell dear Glencowden, where to airy measures,
The streamlet meanders from shade unto shade,
Where Nature, uncultur'd, counts o'er her sweet treasures,
In the lap of rude accident carelessly spread.
But grander by far are the ivy-bound tresses,
That wave from the shoulders of yon summit grey,
Than all the vain pomp, and the fanciful dresses,
That wide in the garden their foliage display.
The streamlet meanders from shade unto shade,
Where Nature, uncultur'd, counts o'er her sweet treasures,
In the lap of rude accident carelessly spread.
But grander by far are the ivy-bound tresses,
That wave from the shoulders of yon summit grey,
Than all the vain pomp, and the fanciful dresses,
That wide in the garden their foliage display.
As, dearer to me is the copse of green hazel,
Where blooms the pale primrose, besprinkled with dew.
Where no foot is pourtray'd but the foot of the weasel,
From its crevice sly peeping, its prey to pursue,
an all the sweet vistas, with chaplets of roses,
That lead on the eye to some prospect afar,
Where nature, constrain'd, on the terrace reposes,
With formal improvements for ever at war.
Where blooms the pale primrose, besprinkled with dew.
Where no foot is pourtray'd but the foot of the weasel,
From its crevice sly peeping, its prey to pursue,
an all the sweet vistas, with chaplets of roses,
That lead on the eye to some prospect afar,
Where nature, constrain'd, on the terrace reposes,
With formal improvements for ever at war.
As, dearer by far are thy broom cover'd shoulders,
Where nestles the linnet, or warbles her song,
starts from her spray, when the precipice moulders,
And aloud to the echo does ruin prolong.
Yes, dearer that all that weak symmetry fancies,
Constrain'd decorations that never can please,
When the eye, as 'twere, fetter'd, onward advance
No wild deviation affording release.
Where nestles the linnet, or warbles her song,
starts from her spray, when the precipice moulders,
And aloud to the echo does ruin prolong.
Yes, dearer that all that weak symmetry fancies,
Constrain'd decorations that never can please,
When the eye, as 'twere, fetter'd, onward advance
No wild deviation affording release.
But, ah! why count over the charms of Glencowden
The charms of Glencowden are pains unto me;
These scenes of my youth! in my bosom thick croaking,
Will murder my peace, tho' far distant I be.
Then oft will the pleasures I felt at the nutting
Thy green spreading hazel, with clusters so fair
Return o'er my mind when, low pensively sitting
I brood o'er each prospect of sorrow and care.
The charms of Glencowden are pains unto me;
These scenes of my youth! in my bosom thick croaking,
Will murder my peace, tho' far distant I be.
Then oft will the pleasures I felt at the nutting
Thy green spreading hazel, with clusters so fair
Return o'er my mind when, low pensively sitting
I brood o'er each prospect of sorrow and care.
To gain the sweet purple that glow'd on the bramble
Or peep'd at the linnet that chirp'd on the spray
Now thy rugged sides I would fearlessly scramble
And chide my companions for timid delay.
Philosophers, tell me, how I may behind me
Leave all the soft pleasures I oft tasted there;
Nor drop (tho' reflection should craw to remind me
For their loss the slight tribute they ask of a tear.
Or peep'd at the linnet that chirp'd on the spray
Now thy rugged sides I would fearlessly scramble
And chide my companions for timid delay.
Philosophers, tell me, how I may behind me
Leave all the soft pleasures I oft tasted there;
Nor drop (tho' reflection should craw to remind me
For their loss the slight tribute they ask of a tear.
Ah! there all your sophistry shrinks from the quest
In vain you pretend that affection is wrong:
The eye of endearment delights still to tease me,
And doat on those scenes it would wish to prolong
Then farewell Glencowden, tho' destin'd to wander,
Far far from thy covert to yon distant seene;
Long long in my ear shall thy streamlets meander,
And the boughs of thy bushes long wave in thy stream!
In vain you pretend that affection is wrong:
The eye of endearment delights still to tease me,
And doat on those scenes it would wish to prolong
Then farewell Glencowden, tho' destin'd to wander,
Far far from thy covert to yon distant seene;
Long long in my ear shall thy streamlets meander,
And the boughs of thy bushes long wave in thy stream!