The Wild Glen.
[Rev. Henry Scott Riddell. Set to music by Peter Macleod.]
When my flocks upon the heathy hill are lying a' at rest,
And the gloamin' spreads its mantle grey, o'er the world's dewy breast,
I'll tak' my plaid and hasten through yon woody dell unseen,
And meet my bonnie lassie in the wild glen sae green.
I'll meet her by the trystin' tree that's staunin' a' alane,
Where I have carved her name upon the little moss-grey stane,
There I will clasp her to my breast, and be mair blest, I ween,
Then a' that are aneath the sky, in the wild glen sae green.
My faldin' plaid shall shield her frae the gloamin's chilly gale
The star o' eve shall mark our joy but shall not tell her tale,
Our simple tale o' tender love that tauld sae aft has been,
To my bonnie bonnie lassie in the wild glen sae green.
Oh! I could wander earth a' owre nor care for aught o' bliss,
If I might share at my return a joy sae pure as this;
And I could spurn a' earthly wealth, a palace and a queen,
For my bonnie bonnie lassie in the wild glen sae green.