Jeanie Deans

St Leonard's hill was lightsome land,
Where gowan'd grass was growin',
For man and beast were food and rest,
And milk and honey flowin'.
A father's blessing follow'd close,
Where'er her foot was treading,
And Jeanie's humble, hamely joys
On every side were spreading wide,
On every side were spreading.

The mossy turf on Arthur's Seat,
St Anthon's well aye springin';
The lammies playing at her feet,
The birdies round her singin'.
The solemn haunts o' Holyrood,
Wi' bats and hoolits eerie,
The tow'ring crags o' Salisbury,
The lowly wells o' Weary, O
The lowly wells o' Weary.

But evil days and evil men,
Came ower their sunny dwellin',
Like thunder-storms on sunny skies,
Or wastefu' waters swellin'.
What aince was sweet is bitter now,
The sun of joy is setting;
In eyes that wont to glame wi' glee,
The briny tear is wetting fast,
The briny tear is wetting.

Her inmost thoughts to Heaven is sent,
In faithful supplication;
Her earthly stay 's Macallummore,
The guardian o' the nation.
A hero's heart--a sister's love--
A martyr's truth unbending;
They 're a' in Jeanie's tartan plaid--
And she is gane, her leefu' lane,
To Lunnon toun she 's wending!