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THE BLAE-BERRY GARLAND.
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Will you go to the highlands, my jewel, with me,
Will you go to the highlands, the flocks for to see,
It is health to my jewel to breath the sweet air,
And to pull the blae-berries in the forest so fair.
To the highlands, my jewel, I’ll not go with thee
For the road it is long, and the hills they are high,
I love these vallies and sweet corn fields,
More than all the blae-berries your wild mountain yield.
Our hills are bonny when the heather’s in bloom
It would chear a fine fancy in the month of June,
To pull the blae-berries and carry them home,
Set them on your table when December comes on.
Out spake her Father, that saucy old man,
You might chosen a mistress among your own clan,
It's but poor entertainment to our la'land dames,
To promise them berries and blue heather's bloom
Kilt up your green plaidie, walk over yon hill,
For a sight of your highland face does me much ill
For I'd wed my daughter and spare pennies too,
To whom my heart pleases, and what's that to you
My plaid it is broad, it has colours anew,
Goodman, for your kindness, I'll leave it with you
I've got a warm cordial keeps the cold from me,
The blythe blink of love from your daughter's eye.
My flocks are but thin, and my lodging but bare,
And you that has meikle the mair you can spare,
