The Pride o' the Glen

Oh, bonnie 's the lily that blooms in the valley,
And fair is the cherry that grows on the tree;
The primrose smiles sweet as it welcomes the simmer,
And modest 's the wee gowan's love-talking e'e;
Mair dear to my heart is that lown cosy dingle,
Whar late i' the gloamin', by the lanely "Ha' den,"
I met with the fairest ere bounded in beauty,
By the banks o' the Endrick, the pride o' the glen.

She 's pure as the spring cloud that smiles in the welkin,
An blithe as the lambkin that sports on the lea;
Her heart is a fount rinnin' owre wi' affection,
And a warld o' feeling is the love o' her e'e.
The prince may be proud o' his vast hoarded treasures,
The heir o' his grandeur and high pedigree;
They kenna the happiness dwalt in my bosom,
When alane wi' the angel o' luve and o' le.

I 've seen the day dawn in a shower-drappin' goud,
The grass spread wi' dew, like a wide siller sea;
The clouds shinin' bricht in a deep amber licht,
And the earth blushin' back to the glad lift on hie.
I 've dream'd o' a palace wi' gem-spangled ha's,
And proud wa's a' glitterin' in rich diamond sheen
Wi' towers shinin' fair, through the rose-tinted air,
And domes o' rare pearls and rubies atween.

I 've sat in a garden, 'mid earth's gayest flowers,
A' gaudily shawin' their beauteous dyes,
And breathin' in calm the air's fragrant balm,
Like angels asleep on the plains o' the skies;
Yet the garden, and palace, and day's rosy dawning,
Though in bless'd morning dreams they should aft come again,
Can ne'er be sae sweet as the bonnie young lassie,
That bloom'd by the Endrick, the pride of the glen.

The exile, in sleep, haunts the land o' his fathers,
The captive's ae dream is his hour to be free;
The weary heart langs for the morning rays comin',
The oppress'd, for his sabbath o' sweet liberty.
But my life's only hope, my heart's only prayer,
Is the day that I 'll ca' the young lassie my ain;
Though a' should forsake me, wi' her I 'll be happy,
On the banks o' the Endrick, the pride o' the glen.