Wild cries the Winter, loud through all our valleys The midnights roar, the grey noons echo back; About the scalloped coasts the eager galleys Beat for kind harbours from the horizons black; We tread the miry roads, the rain-drenched heather, We are the men, we battle, we endure! God’s pity for you, exiles, in your weather Of swooning winds, calm seas, and skies demure! Wild cries the Winter, and we walk song-haunted Over the hills and by the thundering falls, Or where the dirge of a brave past is chaunted In dolorous dusks by immemorial walls. Though hails may beat us and the great mists blind us, And lightning rend the pine-tree on the hill, Yet are we strong, yet shall the morning find us Children of tempest all unshaken still. We wander where the little grey towns cluster Deep in the hills or selvedging the sea, By farm-lands lone, by woods where wild-fowl muster To shelter from the day’s inclemency; And night will come, and then far through the darkling A light will shine out in the sounding glen, And it will mind us of some fond eye’s sparkling, And we’ll be happy then. Let torrents pour, then, let the great winds rally, Snow-silence fall or lightning blast the pine, That light of home shines warmly in the valley, And, exiled son of Scotland, it is thine. Far have you wandered over seas of longing, And now you drowse, and now you well may weep, When all the recollections come a-thronging, Of this rude country where your fathers sleep. They sleep, but still the hearth is warmly glowing While the wild Winter blusters round their land; That light of home, the wind so bitter blowing-- Look, look and listen, do you understand? Love, strength, and tempest--oh, come back and share them! Here is the cottage, here the open door; We have the hearts, although we do not bare them,-- They’re yours, and you are ours for evermore. _Neil Munro._ JACOBITE SONGS ANONYMOUS CXLVIII THE KING OVER THE WATER Bonnie Charlie’s noo awa’ Safely o’er the friendly main; Mony a heart will break in twa, Should he ne’er come back again. _Will ye no’ come back again? Will ye no’ come back again? Better lo’ed ye canna be-- Will ye no’ come back again?_ The hills he trod were a’ his ain, And bed beneath the birken tree; The bush that hid him on the plain, There’s none on earth can claim but he. Sweet the laverock’s note and lang, Liltin’ wildly up the glen; But he sings nae ither sang Than ‘Will ye no come back again?’ Whene’er I hear the blackbird sing Unto the e’enin’ sinkin’ down, Or merle that makes the woods to ring, To me they hae nae ither soun’ Than-- _Will ye no come back again? Will ye no come back again? Better lo’ed ye canna be-- Will ye no come back again?_ _Anonymous._