The Braes o’ Balquhither (Robert Tannahill)

Let us go, lassie, go. To the braes of Balquhither, Where the blueberries grow 'Mang the bonnie Highland heather Where the deer and the rae, Lightly bounding together, Sport the lang Summer day On the braes o' Balquhither.

I will twine thee a bow'r, By the clear silver fountain, And I'll cover it o'er Wi' the flowers o' the mountain; I will range through the wilds, And the deep glens sae dreary. And return wi' their spoils, To the bow'r o' my deary.

When the nide wintry win' Idly raves round our dwelling, And the roar of the linn On the night breeze is swelling; So merrily we'll sing, As the storm rattles o'er us, Till the dear shieling ring Wi' the light lilting chorus.

Now the Summer is in prime, Wi' the flowers richly blooming, And the wild mountain thyme A' the moorlands perfuming ; To our dear native scenes Let us journey together, ; Whar glad innocence reigns, 'Mang the braes o' Balquhither.

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