THE LASS O' ARANTEENIE.
Forlorn amang the Highland hills,
'Midst Nature's wildest grandeur;
By rocky dens and woody glens,
With weary steps I wander.
The langsome way, the darksome day,
The mountain mist sae rainy,
Are nought to me, when gaun to thee,
Sweet lass o' Aranteenie.
Yon mossy rote-bud down the howe,
Just op'ning fresh and bonny,
Blinks sweetly neath the hazle bough,
An’s scarcely seen by onie.
Sae sweet amidst her native hills,
Obscurely blooms my Jeanie,
Marr fair an' gay than rosy May,
The flower o' Aranteenie,
Now from the mountains lofty brow,
I view the disant ocean,
There av'rice guides the bounding prow,
Ambition courts promotion.
Let fortune pour her golden store,
Her laurel'd favours many—
Give me but this my soul a first wish,
The lass o' Aranteenie.