Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
137 . SongFarewell to the Banks of Ayr
T
Loud roars the wild, inconstant blast,
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,
The hunter now has left the moor. The scatt’red coveys meet secure; While here I wander, prest with care, Along the lonely banks of Ayr. By early Winter’s ravage torn; Across her placid, azure sky, She sees the scowling tempest fly: Chill runs my blood to hear it rave; I think upon the stormy wave, Where many a danger I must dare, Far from the bonie banks of Ayr. ’Tis not that fatal, deadly shore; Tho’ death in ev’ry shape appear, The wretched have no more to fear: But round my heart the ties are bound, That heart transpierc’d with many a wound; These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, To leave the bonie banks of Ayr. Her healthy 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 bonie banks of Ayr!