The Rantin' Highlandman

Ae morn, last ouk, as I gaed out
To flit a tether'd ewe and lamb,
I met, as skiffin' ower the green,
A jolly, rantin' Highlandman.
His shape was neat, wi' feature sweet,
And ilka smile my favour wan;
I ne'er had seen sae braw a lad
As this young rantin' Highlandman.

He said, "My dear, ye 're sune asteer;
Cam' ye to hear the lav'rock's sang?
Oh, wad ye gang and wed wi' me,
And wed a rantin' Highlandman?
In summer days, on flow'ry braes,
When frisky are the ewe and lamb,
I 'se row ye in my tartan plaid,
And be your rantin' Highlandman.

"Wi' heather bells, that sweetly smell,
I 'll deck your hair, sae fair and lang,
If ye 'll consent to scour the bent
Wi' me, a rantin' Highlandman.
We 'll big a cot, and buy a stock,
Syne do the best that e'er we can;
Then come, my dear, ye needna fear
To trust a rantin' Highlandman."

His words, sae sweet, gaed to my heart,
And fain I wad hae gi'en my han';
Yet durstna, lest my mither should
Dislike a rantin' Highlandman.
But I expect he will come back;
Then, though my kin should scauld and ban,
I 'll ower the hill, or whare he will,
Wi' my young rantin' Highlandman.