A SONG OF 

 SCOTLAND 



A song is sung amid the hills. 

 And wafted o er the mountains ; 

 A song that sings of sparkling rills, 

 Gay as the mirth of fountains, 

 Of perfume of the fruitful fells. 

 And blossom of the heather. 

 Of ferns that grow in dewy dells, 

 ^he joys of summer weather. 



'The sound is born of whirring wings. 

 Of breezes kissing waters, 

 Like music from a thousand strings. 

 From harps of wood-nymph daughters ; 

 Of silver forms. Loch Levens gems, 

 A sportmans joy, — their capture. 

 The brightest gleam of diadems 

 Could ne'er enhance his rapture. 



In dainty sport we pleasure find 

 In all the gifts of nature. 

 With love alone, no thought unkind. 

 For every happy creature. 

 Where soft the air, and sky of blue. 

 Or gently falling showers. 

 Where scenes are old but ever new. 

 The song that dies 'mid flowers. 

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