Hew Morrison Collection > Minor poems, and translations, in verse

Scotland ! my own, my native land,
I love thy soil from strand to strand ;
In humble hut, in field, and fold,
In lake and stream, and moimtain old,
I love thee in thy various forms—
I love thee in thy very storms ;
And thank the destiny divine
That honoured me— a child of thine !
But prejudice, with hateful sway,
Shall never rule my humble lay,
When gift or grace of other clime
Induce the tribute of my rhyme.
Then will I murmur not to own
That richer woods than thine imbrown
The hills and plains of Swedish land ;
Or how the common parent hand,
That gave peculiar charms to thee.
Gave others more fertility ;
How sterner aspects fax than thine
Preside on Alp and Apennine ;
How sweeter flowers than thine arise
In radiance of Italian skies ;
And every charm, combined, reside
By fair Lugano's silver tide.