Farewell, old Coila’s hills and dales, Her heathy moors and winding vales; The scenes where wretched fancy roves, Pursuing past unhappy loves! Farewell, my friends! Farewell, my foes! My peace with these, my love with those; The bursting tears my heart declare, Farewell, the bonnie banks of Ayr! THE HIGHLAND LADDIE The bonniest lad that e’er I saw, Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, Wore a plaid and was fu’ braw, Bonnie Highland laddie. On his head a bonnet blue, Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, His royal heart was firm and true, Bonnie Highland laddie. Trumpets sound and cannons roar, Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie, And a’ the hills wi’ echoes roar, Bonnie Lawland lassie. Glory, Honour, now invite, Bonnie lassie, Lawland lassie, For Freedom and my King to fight, Bonnie Lawland lassie. The sun a backward course shall take, Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, Ere aught thy manly courage shake, Bonnie Highland laddie. Go, for yoursel procure renown, Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie, And for your lawful King his crown, Bonnie Highland laddie! ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH Edina! Scotia’s darling seat, All hail thy palaces and tow’rs, Where once beneath a monarch’s feet Sat Legislation’s sov’reign pow’rs. From marking wildly-scatter’d flow’rs, As on the banks of Ayr I stray’d, And singing lone the ling’ring hours, I shelter in thy honour’d shade. Here Wealth still swells the golden tide, As busy trade his labours plies; There Architecture’s noble pride Bids elegance and splendour rise; Here Justice, from her native skies, High wields her balance and her rod; There Learning, with his eagle eyes, Seeks Science in her coy abode. Thy sons, Edina, social, kind, With open arms the stranger hail; Their views enlarg’d, their lib’ral mind, Above the narrow rural vale; Attentive still to sorrow’s wail, Or modest merit’s silent claim: And never may their sources fail! And never envy blot their name! Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn, Gay as the gilded summer sky, Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn, Dear as the raptur’d thrill of joy. Fair Burnet strikes th’ adoring eye, Heaven’s beauties on my fancy shine; I see the Sire of Love on high, And own his work indeed divine! There watching high the least alarms, Thy rough rude fortress gleams afar; Like some bold veteran, gray in arms, And mark’d with many a seamy scar: The pond’rous wall and massy bar, Grim-rising o’er the rugged rock, Have oft withstood assailing war, And oft repell’d th’ invader’s shock.