The Rustic Lad’s Lament in the Town

O, Wad that my time were owre but,   Wi’ this wintry sleet and snaw, That I might see our house again,   I’ the bonnie birken shaw! For this is no my ain life,   And I peak and pine away Wi’ the thochts o’ hame and the young flowers,   In the glad green month of May. I used to wauk in the morning   Wi’ the loud sang o’ the lark, And the whistling o’ the ploughman lads,   As they gaed to their wark; I used to wear the bit young lambs   Frae the tod and the roaring stream; But the warld is changed, and a’ thing now   To me seems like a dream. There are busy crowds around me,   On ilka lang dull street; Yet, though sae mony surround me,   I ken na ane I meet: And I think o’ kind kent faces,   And o’ blithe an’ cheery days, When I wandered out wi’ our ain folk,   Out owre the simmer braes. Waes me, for my heart is breaking!   I think o’ my brither sma’, And on my sister greeting,   When I cam frae hame awa. And O, how my mither sobbit,   As she shook me by the hand, When I left the door o’ our auld house,   To come to this stranger land. There ’s nae hame like our ain hame—   O, I wush that I were there! There ’s nae hame like our ain hame   To be met wi’ onywhere; And O that I were back again,   To our farm and fields sae green; And heard the tongues o’ my ain folk,   And were what I hae been!