Wick
by John Horne.




I lo'e our rocky bay in winter's whirlin' day
When its waters are a'tossin' an' foamin;
Oh, thrillin' is its roar as it spreads alang the shore,
Wi' its waves tumblin' white in the gloamin'.


Chorus-
Then dinna speak till me o' the sichts ayont the sea,
Or o' cities wi' their croods crush'd an' groanin' -
My heart it winna warm till ony ither charm
As till Wick when it lies in the gloamin' !


Alang the riverside it has aye been my pride,
Wi' thochts deep an' grave till gang a-roamin !
The settin' sun sae bricht, fillin' a' the stretch wi' licht,
An' stealin' gently o'er me in the bloamin'.


Chorus -


Oor ruined castles gran' – hoo lonesomely they stan'
Wi' the win' whistlin' roond them an moanin' !
Oh, touchin' is the scene wi' the dyin' glints atween
As the day dies awa' in the gloamin'.