Poem by Allan Cunningham

* * *

The sun rises bright in France,
  And fair sets he;
But he has tint the blythe blink he had
  In my ain countree.

O, it 's nae my ain ruin
  That saddens aye my e'e,
But the dear Marie I left behin'
  Wi' sweet bairnies three.

My lanely hearth burn'd bonnie,
  And smiled my ain Marie;
I've left a' my heart behin'
  In my ain countree.

The bud comes back to summer,
  And the blossom to the bee;
But I'll win back, O never,
  To my ain countree.

O, I am leal to high Heaven,
  Where soon I hope to be,
An' there I'll meet ye a' soon
  Frae my ain countree!

1. Bonnie Jeanie Walkinshaw
2. Gordon of Brackley
3. The Lily of Nithsdale
4. Margaret and Mary
5. Mary Halliday

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