Air - 'Miss Carmichael.'
Strathearn, oh! how shall I quit thy sweet groves?
How bid thee a long, oh! an endless adieu?
Sad memory over such happiness roves,
As not hope's own magic can never renew.

Sweet scene of my childhood, delight of my youth!
Thy far-winding waters no more I must see;
Thy high-wavering bowers, thy gay woodland flowers,
They wave now, they bloom now, no longer for me.