Why did I cross the deep ?
Oh ! why left I the land
Where my forefathers sleep ?
I sigh for Scotia's shore
And I gaze across the sea,
But I cannot get a blink
O my ain countrie. The palm-tree waveth high,
And fair the myrtle springs.
And to the Indian maid
The bulbul sweetly sings ;
But I dinna see the broom
Wi' its tassels on the lea,
Nor hear the lintie's sang
O' my ain countrie. Oh ! here no Sabbath bell
Awakes the Sabbath morn,
Nor song of reapers heard
Among the yellow corn ;
For the tyrant's voice is here,
And the wail of slaverie ,
But the sun of freedom shines
In my ain countrie. There's a hope for every woe,
And a balm for every pain,
But the first joys of our heart
Come never buck again.
There's a track upon the deep.
And a path across the sea,
But the weary ne'er return
To their ain countrie. Anonymous. Notes From the Tasmanian Newspaper The Britannia and Trades' Advocate 20 Mar 1851 p. 4.