To the hills where the wild curlews whistle,
Where a man may stand up on his feet.
“Come with me where the bright sunbeams flicker,
Through the larches above on the brae,
Where the streams by the boulder stones bicker,
And wavelets around are at play.
Throw your line straight across over yonder,
Down, down let it gradually swing,
By the swirl near the rock let it wander,
And you’ll hook a trout fit for a king.