Farewell to Edinburgh

The shade is on thy brow, sweet land,The shade is on thy brow,For autumn rends away the crownThat summer gave but now;I turn me towards a greener clime,Where Albion's groves appear,But still the tear is on my cheekFor thee, Edina dear.

There may, perchance, be richer realms,Where pride and splendour roll,But thou hast, sure, the wealth of heart,That wins the stranger's soul;There may, perchance, be those who sayThat Scotia's hills are drear,Yet tears are lingering on my cheekFor thee, Edina dear.

And when, my pilgrim-wanderings o'er,I seek my native-land,And by my ingle-side once moreDo clasp the kindred hand,And tell my listening children talesOf climes of foreign fame,Their grateful tears with mine will fallAt dear Edina's name.