The Maid of Glencoe

Once more in the Highlands I wander alone,
Where the thistle and heather are bonnie and blown;
By mountain and streamlet, by cavern and glen,
Where echo repeats the sweet wood-notes again.
Give courtiers their gay-gilded halls and their grandeur,
Give misers their gold, all the bliss they can know;
But let me meet Flora, while pensive I wander--
Fair Flora, dear Flora! the maid of Glencoe!

Oh, first when we met, being handsome and gay,
I felt she had stole my affections away;
The mavis sang loud on the sweet hawthorn tree,
But her voice was more sweet and endearing to me.
The sun spread his rays of bright gold o'er the fountain,
The hours glided by without languor or woe,
As we pull'd the sweet flowers from the steep rocky mountains--
My blessings attend thee, sweet maid of Glencoe!

The glen is more rugged, the scene more sublime,
Now hallow'd by love, and by absence, and time!
And fondly resemble the thoughts of my heart,
Untouch'd by the cold soothing fingers of art.
And lo! as I gaze on the charms of my childhood,
Where bright in the heath-bell the dew-drops still glow,
A fairy-like form ushers forth from the wild wood--
'Tis Flora, fair Flora! the maid of Glencoe.