LOVE AMANG THE HEATHER. 



The Hills of the Highlands 



Will ye go to the Highlan's, my Mary, 

 And visit our haughs and our glens? 



There's beauty 'mang hills o' the Highlan's, 

 That lass i' th' Lowlands ne'er kens. 



'Tis true we've few cowslips or roses, 



Nae lilies grow wild on the lea; 

 But the Heather its sweet scent discloses, 



And the daisy's as sweet to the ee. 



See yon far heathy hills, whare they're risin', 

 Whose summits are shaded wi' blue; 



There the fleet mountain roes they are lyin', 

 Or feedin' their fawns, love, for you. 



Right sweet are the scenes i' the gloamin', 

 Whan the shepherds return frae the hill, 



Aroun' by the banks o' Loch Lomon', 



While the bagpipes are soundin' sae shrill. 



Right sweet are the low-setting sunbeams, 

 That point owre the quivering stream ; 



But sweeter the smiles o' my Mary, 



And kinder the blinks o' her een. 



William Nicholson. 



(Known as the Galloway poet. Born 1782, died 1849.) 



