Explore "The Banks of Nith" by Robert Burns on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The Thames flows proudly to the sea, / Where royal cities stately stand; / But sweeter flows the Nith to me, / Where Comyns ance had high command. / When shall I see that honour'd land, / That winding stream I love so dear! / Must wayward Fortune's adverse hand / For ever, ever keep me here!
How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, / Where bounding hawthorns gaily bloom; / And sweetly spread thy sloping dales, / Where lambkins wanton through the broom. / Tho' wandering now must be my doom, / Far from thy bonie banks and braes, / May there my latest hours consume, / Amang the friends of early days!