ABUNE the braes I see him stand, The tapmost corner o' his land, An' scan wi' care, owre hill an' plain , A prospect he may ca' his ain. His yowes ayont the hillocks feed, Weel herdit in by wakefu' Tweed; An' canny thro' the bent his kye Gang creepin ' to the byre doun-by. His hayfields lie fu ' smoothly shorn , An' ripenin' rise his rigs o' corn; A simmer's evenin ' glory fa's Upon his hamestead's sober wa's. A stately figure there he stands An' rests upon his staff his hands: Maist like some patriarch of eld, In sic an evenin's calm beheld . A farmer he of Ochilside, For worth respectit far an ' wide; A friend of justice and of truth , A favourite wi' age an ' youth . There's no' a bairn but kens him weel, And ilka collie 's at his heel; Nor beast nor body e'er had ocht To wyte him wi' , in deed or thocht. Fu' mony a gloamin ' may he stand Abune the brae to bless the land! Fu' mony a simmer rise an' fa ' In beauty owre his couthie ha'! For peacefu ' aye, as simmer's air, The kindly hearts that kindle there; Whase friendship, sure an' aye the same, For me mak's Ochilside a hame. |