O tarry, gentle traveller,
O tarry now at close of day,
Nor haste to leave these fertile vales
For lofty mountains far away.

Yon sun that gilds this village spire
And gaily flings his parting ray,
Say, smiles he not as sweetly o'er
Thy native village far away?

Ah! waste not thus thy fleeting days
In alien lands and paths unknown;
For happier scenes await thee back,
Which bounteous fortune made thine own.

Return then, gentle traveller,
Return thee with the morning ray,
Nor leave again thy fertile plains
For barren mountains far away!