Athol Cummers

Duncan, lad, blaw the cummers,
Play me round the Athol cummers ;
A' the din o' a' the drummers
Canna rouse like Athol cummers.
When I'm dowie, wet or weary,
Soon my heart grows light an' cheery,
When I hear the sprightly nummers
O' my dear, my Athol cummers !

When the fickle lasses vex me,
When the cares o' life perplex me,
When I'm fley'd wi' frightfu' rumours,
Then I lilt o' Athol cummers.
'Tis my cure for a' disasters,
Kebbit ewes an' crabbit masters,
Drifty nights an' dripping summers —
A' my joy is Athol cummers !

Ettrick banks an' braes are bonny,
Yarrow hills as green as ony;
But in my heart nae beauty nummers
Wi' my dear, my Athol cummers,
Lomond's beauty nought surpasses,
Save Breadalbane's bonny lasses ;
But deep within my spirit slummers
Something sweet of Athol cummers.