"I do not boast the wheaten wealth
Of our glens and hills, my dearie!
But enow is health, and grass is wealth,
In the land of mead and dairy.
"I 've store of kine, my darling,
Nor any lilting sweeter
Thine ear can know, than is their low,
And the music of the bleater.
"I have no ship on ocean
With merchant treasure sailing;
But my tight boat, and trusty net,
Whole loads of fish are trailing.
"And, for dress, is none, my beauty,
Than the tartan plaiding warmer,
For its colours bright, oh, what delight
To see them deck my charmer!
"And ne'er was Highland welcome
More hearty than thy greeting,
Each day, the rein, and courteous swain,
Thy pleasure will be meeting.
"And thou shalt wear the healthy hue
That give the Highland breezes,
And not a bird but will be heard
To sing the song that pleases.
"No summer morn is blyther,
With all its burst of glory,
Than the heaving breast, that, uncaress'd,
Pined—shall, caress'd, adore thee."
"Stay, Highlander! my heart, my hand,
My vow and all I render,
A Highland lay has won the day,
And I will hie me yonder."