"Why did you leave that happy land, And seek a shelter here, Where keenly sweeps the northern wind Through frozen forests drear? And why forsake the purple hills Where Scotland's heather grows, To shudder in this dreary waste Of cold Canadian snows?" IV. "Ah, children--Ye recall the time When I was young and strong; When never roebuck on the brae More swiftly raced along. I dwelt within a bieldy hut Far up a Highland glen, With forty more, our name that bore, All true and loyal men. V. "We sowed the seed, and reaped the grain, With thankful hearts and kind; Our cattle grazed upon the hill That rose our homes behind. Each Sabbath-day we worshipped God Within the homely fane, All circled by the blessed graves I ne'er shall see again. VI. "Our chief--ah, me! how proud were we That honoured name to hail, Was, like his fathers, true and just-- In heart and soul, a Gael. His lands were narrowed in their range Since dark Culloden's day, But o'er our hearts the ancient name Still bore its ancient sway. VII. "He loved us: Ay! he did not leave His old ancestral home, As many did, with stranger friends In foreign lands to roam. God's blessing rest upon his head, Alive or dead, say I; For 'midst his clan, though dwindled sore, He looked to live and die! VIII. "And so we dwelt, in peace and rest, For many a changing year: Not rich; but riches never made A home so doubly dear. From kindly earth, from verdant hill, From river, loch, and wood, We drew the stores that kept us still In raiment and in food. IX. "One year--I know not which it was, For it was long ago,-- The summer had been cold and wet, And early fell the snow; A heavy blight came down from heaven On plant, and root, and grain, And what the pestilence had touched, Ne'er rose to life again. X. "It was an awful winter. Want And famine raged around; Yet little felt we of their power, Within our master's ground. Our debts were few, our rents were small, And these were all forgiven-- No heavier burden did we bear Than that which fell from heaven! XI. "The spring came round--the primrose bloomed Upon the bank and brae, And blythesome looked the bonny glen Within the light of May. The lowing of a hundred herds, The voices of the rills, The bleat of flocks, the glad bird's song Rang o'er our Highland hills. XII. "The blade was springing in the field Right healthily and green, With promise of the fairest yield That eye had ever seen. And joy rose up within our hearts, We feared no more decay, But thanked our Maker--who had ta'en The grievous curse away. XIII.