The Hills of the Highlands

Will ye go to the Highlan's, my Mary,
And visit our haughs and our glens?
There 's beauty 'mang hills o' the Highlan's,
That lassie i' th' Lowlands ne'er kens.

'Tis true we 've few cowslips or roses,
Nae lilies grow wild on the lea;
But the heather its sweet scent discloses,
And the daisy 's as sweet to the e'e.

See yon far heathy hills, whare they 're risin',
Whose summits are shaded wi' blue;
There the fleet mountain roes they are lyin',
Or feedin' their fawns, love, for you.

Right sweet are our scenes i' the gloamin',
Whan shepherds return frae the hill,
Aroun' by the banks o' Loch Lomon',
While bagpipes are soundin' sae shrill.

Right sweet is the low-setting sunbeams,
That points owre the quivering stream;
But sweeter the smiles o' my Mary,
And kinder the blinks o' her een.