My Native Cot

The white cot where I spent my youth

Is on yon lofty mountain side,

The stream which flowed beside the door

Adown the mossy slope doth glide;

The holly tree that hid one end

Is shaken by the moaning wind,

Like as it was in days of yore

When 'neath its boughs I shade did find.

Clear is the sky of morning tide,

Bright is the season time of youth,

Before the mid-day clouds appear,

And fell deceit obliterates truth;

Black tempest in the evening lowers,

The rain descends with whirlwind force,

And long ere midnight's hour nears

Full is the heart of deep remorse.

Where are my old companions dear,

Who in those days with me did play?

The green graves in the parish yard

Will soon the mournful answer say:

Farewell therefore ye pleasures light,

Which in my youth I did enjoy,

Dark evening's come with all its trials,

And these the bliss of life destroy.