The poem below was written by the 19th century poet David Wingate.
The bonny braes whare Cochno springs,
The breeze that blaws frae Cochno braes,
Oh aft my waefu' fancy sees'
And mid the wail frae Cochno braes,
Oh turn thou breeze that seaward strays!
Owre boulders brown, and ferny linns,
'Twas aye my wish my rest to win,
When a' the sword could do was done;
And aye I hoped I micht be laid
Beneath the peacefu' beechen shade,
Whare safe the cushie broods and croons,
Amang the braes whare Cochno rins.
Whare owre the loch the lavrock sings,
Through mouldy roof, and bole-less wa'
Amid the mirk I see them a'
Aboon the clank o' weary chains,
Aboon the taunting trumpet strains,
I here the soaring bird that sings,
Aboon the loch whare Cochno springs.
Within my dreary dungeon strays,
And fain would Cochno's master tell,
O' hawthorns white in ilka dell.
But ah! The halesome breezes there,
Shall lift my haffet lock nae mair,
My hunting horn again shall raise,
Nae echo blithe on Cochno braes.
A reek that curls aboon the trees,
And ase-flakes like hawthorns's snaw,
Fa' thick round Cochno's burning ha'.
A wife an' weans frae fire that flee,
And need the help my haun' should gie,
Cauld courin' neath the moaning trees,
And driving smeek my fancy sees.
I hear my struggling country's waes;
A ruthless faction reigns supreme,
And far and near the war-fires gleam.
As round a peerless pris'ner queen,
The fate-mist lifting slow is seen;
Aye wilder wails and darker days
I hear and see on Cochno braes.
And speed thee back to Cochno braes!
Tak' health to a' that loe me there.
And joy to her that’s a' my care.
Oh tell nae how I pine and fret!
But say there's hope o' freedom yet.
Fu' wellcome ocht will be that says,
I'll soon return to Cochno braes.
