WHEN
HOME
WE
RETURN
.
Air
—
O
say
,
bonny
Lass
,
will
you
lie
in
a
barrack
?
WHEN
home
we
return
,
after
youth
has
been
spending
,
And
many
a
slow
year
has
been
wasting
and
ending
,
We
often
seem
lost
in
the
once
well-known
places
,
And
sigh
to
find
age
has
so
furrow'd
dear
faces
;
For
the
rose
that
has
faded
the
eye
still
keeps
mourning
,
And
weeps
every
change
that
it
sees
on
returning
.
Should
we
miss
but
a
tree
where
we
us'd
to
be
playing
,
Or
find
the
wood
cut
where
we
saunter'd
a-Maying
,
—
If
the
yew-seat's
away
,
or
the
ivy's
awanting
,
We
hate
the
fine
lawn
and
the
new-fashion'd
planting
,
Each
thing
call'd
improvement
seems
blacken'd
with
crimes
If
it
tears
up
one
record
of
blissful
old
times
.
When
many
a
spring
had
call'd
forth
the
sweet
flowers
,
And
many
an
autumn
had
painted
the
bowers
,
I
came
to
the
place
where
life
had
its
beginning
,
Taking
root
with
the
groves
that
around
me
were
springing
;
When
I
found
them
all
gone
,
'twas
like
dear
friends
departed
,
And
I
walk'd
where
they
us'd
to
be
half
broken
hearted
!
When
distant
one
bower
my
fancy
still
haunted
,
'Twas
hung
round
with
woodbine
my
Jessy
had
planted
I
ran
to
the
spot
,
where
a
weak
flower
remaining
Could
just
nod
its
head
to
approve
my
complaining
,
A
tear
for
a
dewdrop
I
hid
in
its
fringes
,
And
sigh'd
then
to
think
what
one's
pleasures
unhinges
!
But
,
ah
!
what
is
that
to
the
friends
oft
estranging
,
Their
manners
still
more
than
their
looks
daily
changing
;
Where
the
heart
us'd
to
warm
to
find
civil
behaviour
,
Make
us
wish
we
had
stay'd
from
our
country
for
ever
,
With
the
sweet
days
of
youth
in
our
fancies
still
glowing
,
And
the
love
of
old
Friends
with
old
Time
ever
growing
!