Away, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses!
In you let the minions of luxury rove;
Restore me the rocks where the snow-flake reposes,
Though they are scared to freedom and love:
Yet, Caledonia; beloved are thy mountains,
Round their white summits though elements war;
Though cataracts foam 'stead of smooth-flowing fountains,
I sigh for the valley of dark Loch Nagar.

Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wander'd;
My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid;
On chieftans long perish'd my memory ponder'd.
As daily I strode through the pine cover'd glade.
I sought not my home, till the day's dying glory
Gave praise to the rays of the bright polar star;
For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story,
Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch Nagar.

"Shades of the dead! have I not heard your voices
Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale"
Surely the soul of the hero rejoices,
And rides on the wind, o'er his own Highland vale.
Round Loch Nagar while the stormy mist gathers,
Winter presides in his cold icy car:
Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers;
They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch Nagar.