Yon wild mossy mountains saelofty and wide,
That nurse in their bosom the youth o’ the Clyde,
Where the grouse lead their coveys thro’ the heather to feed,
And the shepherd tends his flock as he pipes on his reed.
Not Gowrie’s rich valley, nor Forth’s sunny shores,
To me hae the charms o’yon wild, mossy moors;
For there, bya lanely, sequestered stream,
Besides a sweet lassie, my thought and my dream.
Amangthaewild mountains shall still be my path,
Ilkstream foaming down its aingreen, narrow strath;
For there, wi’my lassie, the day langI rove,
While o’er us unheeded flie the swift hours o’love.
She is not the fairest, altho’ she is fair;
O’nice education but sma’is her share;
Her parentage humble as humble can be;
But I lo’e the dear lassie because she lo’es me.
To Beauty what man but maunyield him a prize,
In her armour of glances, and blushes, and sighs?
And when wit and refinement haepolish’d her darts,
They dazzle our een, as they flie to our hearts.
Butkindness, sweet kindness, in the fond-sparkling e’e,
Has lustre outshining the diamond to me;
And the heart beating love as I’m clasp’d in her arms,
O, these are my lassie’s all-conquering charms!