Now when of yore, on bank and brae,
Our loyal clansmen marshall'd gay;
Far downward scowls Bennevis gray,
On sheep-walks spreading lonely.
Farewell, our fathers' land, &c.
For now we cross the stormy sea,
Ah! never more to look on thee,
Nor on thy dun deer, bounding free,
From Etive glens to Morven.
Farewell, our fathers' land, &c.
Thy mountain air no more we 'll breathe;
The household sword shall eat the sheath,
While rave the wild winds o'er the heath
Where our gray sires are sleeping.
Then farewell, our fathers' land, &c.
HEIGH-HO!
A pretty young maiden sat on the grass—
Sing heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho!—
And by a blithe young shepherd did pass,
In the summer morning so early.
Said he, "My lass, will you go with me,
My cot to keep and my bride to be;
Sorrow and want shall never touch thee,
And I will love you rarely?"
"O! no, no, no!" the maiden said—
Sing heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho!—
And bashfully turn'd aside her head,
On that summer morning so early.
"My mother is old, my mother is frail,
Our cottage it lies in yon green dale;
I dare not list to any such tale,
For I love my kind mother rarely."
The shepherd took her lily-white hand—
Sing heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho!—
And on her beauty did gazing stand,
On that summer morning so early.
"Thy mother I ask thee not to leave
Alone in her frail old age to grieve;
But my home can hold us all, believe—
Will that not please thee fairly?"
"O! no, no, no! I am all too young"—
Sing heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho!—
"I dare not list to a young man's tongue,
On a summer morning so early."
But the shepherd to gain her heart was bent;
Oft she strove to go, but she never went;
And at length she fondly blush'd consent—
Heaven blesses true lovers so fairly.