On Leaving A Village In Scotland

Clysdale! as thy romantic vales I leave, And bid farewell to each retiring hill, Where musing memory seems to linger still, Tracing the broad bright landscape; much I grieve That, mingled with the toiling crowd, no more I may return your varied views to mark, Of rocks amid the sunshine towering dark, Of rivers winding wild, or mountains hoar, Or castle gleaming on the distant steep!— Yet many a look back on thy hills I cast, And many a softened image of the past Sadly combine, and bid remembrance keep, To soothe me with fair scenes, and fancies rude, When I pursue my path in solitude.