Glen Collection of printed music > Printed text > Poems and songs, chiefly in the Scottish dialect

48
See, beneath the rude wall of yon ruinous pile,
From the merciless tempest the cattle have fled,
And yon poor patient steed, at the gate by the stile,
Looks wistfully home for his sheltering shed.
Ah ! who would not feel for yon poor gypsy race,
Peeping out from the door of yon old roofless barn.
There my wandering fancy her fortunes might trace,
And sour Discontent there a lesson might learn.
Yet oft in my bosom arises the sigh,
That prompts the warm wish distant scenes to explore ;
Hope gilds the fair prospect with visions of joy,
That happiness reigns on some far distant shore.
But yon grey hermit-tree which stood lone on the moor,
By the fierce driving blast to the earth is blown down ;
So the lone houseless wand'rer, unheeded and poor,
May fall unprotected, unpitied, unknown.