Upon the brae, you should never leave me;
Let foothills and Fern whisper me with hopes,
The bitter cold and the lonesome loch wind
Across the moat, and beside the moor slope
Mention to me what rests heavy on my mind.
By valley of the River Avich, I fail to see;
The broken land that gave me my name.
I must ask forgiveness by this pine forest walk
For not holding these waterfalls the same
And making the most of what I knew before.