Let wrapt musicians strike the lyre,
While plaudits shake the vaulted fane;
Let warriors rush through flood and fire,
A never-dying name to gain;
Let bards, on fancy's fervid wing,
Pursue some high or holy theme:
Be 't mine, in simple strains, to sing
My darling Jeanie 's welcome hame!

Sweet is the morn of flowery May,
When incense breathes from heath and wold--
When laverocks hymn the matin lay,
And mountain peaks are bathed in gold--
And swallows, frae some foreign strand,
Are wheeling o'er the winding stream;
But sweeter to extend my hand,
And bid my Jeanie welcome hame!

Poor collie, our auld-farrant dog,
Will bark wi' joy whene'er she comes;
And baudrons, on the ingle rug,
Will blithely churm at 'auld gray-thrums.'
The mavis, frae our apple-tree,
Shall warble forth a joyous strain;
The blackbird's mellow minstrelsy
Shall welcome Jeanie hame again!

Like dew-drops on a fading rose,
Maternal tears shall start for thee,
And low-breathed blessings rise like those
Which soothed thy slumb'ring infancy.
Come to my arms, my timid dove!
I 'll kiss thy beauteous brow once more;
The fountain of thy father's love
Is welling all its banks out o'er!