ORIGINAL POETRY.
OUE 4IJN PARISH YJET. By John Gk Smith, Author of " Doric Lays," &c. Attend, my auld warld cronies, whase pows like mine are gray, Whase heart is blithe an' bauld, as when in youtlihood's emmy day. I'll lilt ye owre a ditty, for it's lang sin' we hae met, 'Bout the bonny braes 0' Scotland, and our " am Parish yet." Fu' weel we ken, fra Johnnie Groat's, to Tweed's fair siller strand, 'Mang a' the hiehts an' howes, an' streams, o 1 our dear .Fatherland. In Highlands or in Lowlands, ye will never find a bit Sac cozy as the valleys o' our " am Parish yet." I've been in far off lands that lie a'yon't the ragin' sea. I've trod the plains 0' hauchtie France, an' dreaniin' Q-ermanie. The glacier'd Alps o' Switzerland, O, wha can e'er forget, But 'mang them a my thouchts were on " our am Parish yet." & ' I thoueht upon my bairnhood's hame wi' patriot joy an' pride, I thoueht I saw around its wa's, the gentle streamlet glide, I thoueht upon my Mary, wi' her tresses dark aB jet, And I lang'd to be beside her in " Our Am Parish' yet." An' now when sittin' in the chair, my fathers filled o' yore, An poortith's lean an' withered form is banished frae our door, When round our bleezin' ingle, auld fiers sac blithesome sit, Wha wadna' sing the praises o' " our am Parish yet." There's music in the e'enin' star, there's music in the breeze, There's music in the streamlet's voice, that murmurs 'mid the trees, There's music in our youthfu' joys we never can forget, j An' it fa'a like angel's whispers round " our am Parish yet." When life is wearin to its close, an' nicht begins to f*', When a' earth's joys an' pleasures are dwinin' iasfc awa, When round my brain sac weary, auld visioned faces flit, My latest thoueht an' prayer, will be " our am Parish yet."
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Southland Times, Volume III, Issue 255, 9 May 1866, Page 3
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327ORIGINAL POETRY. Southland Times, Volume III, Issue 255, 9 May 1866, Page 3
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