The Book of Scottish Song/On the wild braes of Calder
On the wild braes of Calder.
[John Struthers.]
On the wild braes of Calder, I found a fair lily,
All drooping with dew in the breath of the morn,
A lily more fair never bloom'd in the valley,
Nor rose, the gay garden of art to adorn.
Sweet, sweet, was the fragrance this lily diffused,
As blushing, all lonely, it rose on the view,
But scanty its shelter, to reptiles exposed,
And every chill blast from the cold north that blew.
Beneath yon green hill, a small field I had planted,
Where the light leafy hazel hangs over the burn;
And a flower such as this, to complete it, was wanted,
A flower that might mark the gay season's return.
Straight home to adorn it, I bore this fair lily.
Where, at morn, and at even, I have watch'd it with care,
And blossoming still, it is queen of the valley,
The glory of spring, and the pride of the year.