ROB-ROY'S REPLY TO FRANCIS OSBALDISTONE.
The heather I trod while breathing on earth,
Must bloom o'er my grave in the land of my birth;
My warm heart would shrink like the fern in the frost,
If the tops of my hills to my dim eyes were lost.
Must bloom o'er my grave in the land of my birth;
My warm heart would shrink like the fern in the frost,
If the tops of my hills to my dim eyes were lost.