Low, many mornings, clouds hang forlorn
Over deep valleys and their streams;
It is a landscape that oft returns
From my dear homeland in my dreams.
I hear winds' whisp'rings that echo around
There on these slopes I hold dear
"Burn off ye sunbeams, burn off, burn off
Mist from these Ochils far and near."
Soon there's sunshine in the Hillfoots,
And its people feel its glow;
While above the blooms of heather
Shrug off droplets where they grow.
Mother Nature at her kindest
Blesses Ochils with her finest,
When Her morning sun and winds reveal ... a matchless show.
Introductory Music again ....
When comes the gloaming, on to these hills,
Mellow's this vista in my dreams;
Clouds tinged with rose-light, reddish, but pale,
Linger in sunbeams' ebbing streams.
Slowly descending their motions entrance
My aging thoughts of times past,
Till with the darkness, I smile and sigh,
"Oh! such sights they're too good to last."
Then there's blurring of my visions,
Till peace reigneth o'er my screen,
And sweet slumber overtakes me,
And the views of where I've been;
But the Ochils and their splendour
Deepest sleep do not dismember,
For in daylight hours I still recall ..... that wondrous scene.
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