Scotland's Hills.
[First published in the Edinburgh Literary Gazette. Set to Music by R. A. Smith.]
Oh! these are not my country's hills,
Though they look bright and fair;
Though flowers deck their verdant sides,
The heather blooms not there.
Let me behold the mountains steep,
And wild deer roaming free,
The heathy glen, the ravine deep:
Oh, Scotland's hills for me!
The rose through all this garden land,
May shed its rich perfume;
But I would rather wander 'mong,
My country's bonnie broom.
There sings the shepherd on the hill,
The ploughman on the lea;
There lives my blythesome mountain maid:
Oh, Scotland's hills for me!
In southern climes the radiant sun
A brighter light displays;
But I love best his milder beams
That shine on Scotland's braes.
Then, dear romantic native land,
If e'er I roam from thee,
I'll ne'er forget the cheering lay,
Oh, Scotland's hills for me!