Farewell to the Banks of Ayr

The Autumn mourns her rip’ning corn

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 the surging billow’s roar,

’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.

Farewell, old Coila’s hills and dales,

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!