The Hills Far Out By

This is from a cutting found in the Heritage Centre donations to the collections - provenance and date unknown, author unmarked. (Ed: I cannot find this poem via a Google search)

Oh warble sweet songster on the high mountain crest
That springs from the bent with the dew on thy brest
As away on the wing then wilt merrily fly
For thou loves the sweet rills of the hills far out by

The hark to the sound of the burn running near
Where low in the vale it runs wimping and clear
And away in the distance the shepherd I'll spy
Close herding his flock on the hills far out by

Then pausing a moment and musing I'll stand
To view from some peak our grand Borderland
Where curlews and plovers to there fair mates reply
As they brood in there nests on the hills far out by

I dream not of laurels in the valleys below
Nor yet of the bluebells in the hedge rows aglow
But give me the fells were the fleecy flocks lie
In a snug little spot on the hills far out by

The rich I don't envy though happy and free
But give me the fells with a collie with me
Then the mosses and flowers we would gladly descry
And take a fond lot at the hills far out by

Now after all's written and close put in line
I'll hie my way back to Wark on the Tyne
Where long may I wander the hills standing high
And reviving my hopes o'er the hills far out by