George MacDonald - HameGeorge MacDonald - Hame
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The warl it`s dottit wi` hames
As thick as gowans o` the green,
Aye bonnier ilk ane nor the lave
To him wha there opent his een.
An` mony an` bonny`s the hame
That lies neth auld Scotlan`s crests,
Her hills an` her mountains they are the sides
O` a muckle nest o` nests.
His lies i` the dip o` a muir
Wi` a twa three elder trees,
A lanely cot wi` a sough o` win`,
An` a simmer bum o` bees;
An` mine in a bloomin strath,
Wi` a river rowin by,
Wi` the green corn glintin i` the sun,
An` a lowin o` the kye;
An` yours whaur the chimleys auld
Stan up i` the gloamin pale
Wi` the line o` a gran` sierra drawn
On the lift as sharp`s wi` a nail.
But whether by ingle-neuk
On a creepie ye sookit yer thumb,
Dreamin, an` watchin the blue peat-reek
Wamle oot up the muckle lum,
Or yer wee feet sank i` the fur
Afore a bleezin hearth,
Wi` the curtains drawn, shuttin oot the toon—
Aberdeen, Auld Reekie, or Perth,
It`s a naething, nor here nor there;
Leal Scots are a`ane thegither!
Ilk ane has a hame, an` it`s a` the same
Whether in clover or heather!
An` the hert aye turns to the hame—
That`s whaur oor ain folk wons;
An` gien hame binna hame, the hert bauds ayont
Abune the stars an` the suns.
For o` a` the hames there`s a hame
Herty an` warm an` wide,
Whaur a` that maks hame ower the big roun earth
Gangs til its hame to bide.
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