To Marykirk ye'll set ye forth,
An whustle as ye step alang,
An aye the Grampians i' the North
Are glowerin on ye as ye gang.
By Martin's Den, throu beech an birk,
A breith comes souchin, sweet an strang,
Alang the road to Marykirk.
Frae mony a field ye'll hear the cry
O teuchats, skirlin on the wing,
Noo East, noo West, amang the kye,
An smell o whins the wind 'll bring;
Aye, lad, it blaws a thocht to mock
The licht o day on ilka thing-
For you, that went yon road last spring,
Are lyin deid in Flanders, Jock.