Away, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses! In you let the minions of luxury rove; Restore me the rocks where the snow-flake reposes, Though they are scared to freedom and love: Yet, Caledonia; beloved are thy mountains, Round their white summits though elements war; Though cataracts foam 'stead of smooth-flowing fountains, I sigh for the valley of dark Loch Nagar. Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wander'd; My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid; On chieftans long perish'd my memory ponder'd. As daily I strode through the pine cover'd glade. I sought not my home, till the day's dying glory Gave praise to the rays of the bright polar star; For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story, Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch Nagar.