Away, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses!

In you let the minions of luxury rove;

Restore me the rocks where the snow-flake reposes,

Though they are scared to freedom and love:

Yet, Caledonia; beloved are thy mountains,

Round their white summits though elements war;

Though cataracts foam 'stead of smooth-flowing fountains,

I sigh for the valley of dark Loch Nagar.



Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wander'd;

My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid;

On chieftans long perish'd my memory ponder'd.

As daily I strode through the pine cover'd glade.

I sought not my home, till the day's dying glory

Gave praise to the rays of the bright polar star;

For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story,

Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch Nagar.