LOVE AMANG THE HEATHER. 



The Chieftain to His Bride 



O come to fair Argyle, my love! 

 And be of Highland hearts the pride; 

 O come, and Ossian's land of song 

 Shall own thy gentle sway, my bride. 



Thy home shall be our heath-clad hills, 

 Wash'd by the clear Atlantic wave, 

 Where mighty Fingal liv'd of yore, 

 Where sleep in death the warriors brave. 



W. Henderson. 



Amang the Heather 



Amang the braes aboon Dunoon, 



In vernal May's delightfu' weather, 



I met at e'en a bonnie lass 



Alane amang the blooming heather. 



* * * * 



I spoke her fair, and speert her name, 

 To tell me true she didna swither, 



But modestly she hung her head, 



And blush'd as red's the blooming heather. 



* * * * 



The balmy air, the glowing sky, 



The thymey sod, the blooming heather, 



And sic an angel by my side 



I trow 'twas Heaven a' thegither! 



The night grew late before we wist, 

 It took us hours to part wi' ither: 



And now she's mine, the bonnie lass. 



That staw my heart amang the heather. 



Wm. Cross. 



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