Away Ye Gay Landscapes Lord Byron Away ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses, In you let the minions of luxury rove; Restore me the rocks where the snowflake reposes, If still they are sacred to freedom and love. Yet Caledonia, dear are they mountains, Round their white summits tho' elements war, Tho cataracts foam 'stead of smooth flowing fountains, I sigh for the valley of dark Lochnagarr. Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wander'd My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid; On chieftans departed, my memory ponder'd, As daily I strayed through the pine-cover'd glade. I sought not my home till the day's dying glory Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star, For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story, Disclos'd by the natives of dark Lochnagarr. Shades of the dead, have I not heard your voices Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale? Surely the soul of the hero rejoices, And rides on the wind o'er his own Highland vale. Round Lochnagarr, while the stormy mist gathers, Winter presides in his cold icy car; Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers! They dwell 'mid the tempests of dark Lochnagarr. Ill starr'd though brave, did no vision foreboding, Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause? Ah! were ye then destined to die at Culloden, Though victory crown'd not your fall with applause? Still were ye happy in death's earthy slumbers; You rest with your clan in the caves of Braemar; The pibroch resounds to the piper's loud numbers, Your deeds to the echoes of wild Lochnagarr. Years have roll'd on, Lochnagarr, since I left you! Years must elapse ere I see you again; Though nature of verdure and flowers has bereft you, Yet still thou art dearer than Albion's plain. England, thy beauties are tame and domestic To one who has rov'd on the mountains afar! Oh! for the crags that are wild and majestic, The steep frowning Glories of Dark Lochnagarr
Music; traditional. Content copyright © 2000 held by the author; Ian Hall.
