THE HIGHLAND PLAID.
Lowland lassie, wilt thou go
Where the hills are clad wi’ snow,
Where, beneath the icy steep,
The hardy shepherd tends his sheep?
Ill nor wae shall thee betide,
When row'd within my Highland Plaid.
Soon the voice of cheerie Spring
Will gar a’ our plantins ring;
Soon our bonnie heather braes,
Will put on their simmer claes;
On the mountain's sunnie side,
We'll lean us on my Highland Plaid.
When the summer spreads the flowers,
Busks the glens in leafy bowers,
Then we'll seek the cauler shed,
Lean us on the primrose bed;
While the burning hours preside,
I‘ll screen thee wi‘ my Highland Plaid.
Then we'll leave the sheep and goat,
I will launch the bonnie boat,
Skim the loch in cantie glee,
Rest the oars to pleasure thee;
When chilly breezes sweep the tide,
I‘ll hap thee wi' my Highland Plaid.
Lowland lads may dress mair fine,
Woo in words mair saft than mine;
Lowland lads hae mair of art,
A' my boast 's an honest heart,
Whilk shall ever be my pride—
O row thee in my Highland Plaid.
Bonnie lad, ye've been sae leal,
My heart wad break at our fareweel;
Lang your love has made me fain,
Tak me-tak me for your ain.
’Cross the Frith, away they glide,
Young Donald and his Lowland bride.
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