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7
Ah no! the love that first can warm,
Will leave her bosom never:
No second passion e’er can charm—
She, loves, and loves for ever.
Will leave her bosom never:
No second passion e’er can charm—
She, loves, and loves for ever.
HE’S OWRE THE HILLS THAT I LO'E WEEL.
Tune—He's owre the hills.
He’s owre the hills that I lo’e weel,
He’s o'er the hills we danrna name;
He's o’er the hills ayont Dumblane,
Wha soon will get his welcome hame.
He’s o'er the hills we danrna name;
He's o’er the hills ayont Dumblane,
Wha soon will get his welcome hame.
My father's gane to fight for him;
My brithers winna bide at hame;
My mither greets and prays for them,
And 'deed she thinks they’re no to blame.
He’s owre, &c.
My brithers winna bide at hame;
My mither greets and prays for them,
And 'deed she thinks they’re no to blame.
He’s owre, &c.
The whigs may scoff, and the whigs may jeer;
But ah! that love maun be sincere,
Which still keeps true whate’er betide,
An’ for his sake leaves a’ beside.
He’s owre. &c.
But ah! that love maun be sincere,
Which still keeps true whate’er betide,
An’ for his sake leaves a’ beside.
He’s owre. &c.
His right these hills, his right these plains,
O’er hieland hearts secure he reigns;
What lads ere did our laddies will do;
W’ere I a laddie. I’d follow him too.
He's owre, &c.
O’er hieland hearts secure he reigns;
What lads ere did our laddies will do;
W’ere I a laddie. I’d follow him too.
He's owre, &c.
