The Stewarton Exile

Here are scenes that haunt an exile As  his thought aft hameward turn Where he roved in youths bright morning Corsehill banks and Clerkland burn   Still they come before his vision Life will cease ere he forgets As those names he ponders over Lainshaw Hown and Hingin yetts   Through the years that yearning lingers Time that longing never heals To walk beside those memories Merry greens and Andras Wiels   Sea’s divide him from the Village Where the Annick wimples doon But with pride he claims his birthright Native o’ the Bonnet Toon                                                   Bobby Deans