From the old kind books came the old friends trooping,
And the old songs called, like the curlew swooping;
And like a sudden sup that was hot and strong and sweet,
The love of bonny Scotland, it ran from head to feet.
O blessings on the heather hills, in white mist or sun!
O blessings on the kind books that make the clans as one!
And blessings on the bagpipes whose magic spanned the sea,
And brought bonny Scotland across the world to me!
WHEN THE ROSES GO DOWN TO THE SEA
On Gloucester moors the roses