SONGS OF THE HEATHER. 



When Rome, great mistress of the warld, 



Sent o'er her conq'ring champions, 

 Auld Scotland ga'e her lug a claw, 



Then aff an' o'er the Grampians. 

 Syne yelloch's out in Norlan' wrath, 



Come gather, lads, come gather; 

 Imperial Rome shall rue the day 



She first smelt Hidand heather . 



Chorus. 



Since then, in mony a weel fought field, 



An' mony a reivin' foray, 

 The heather wild has proudly wav'd 



Frae Lennox to the Moray. 

 But now we're a' "John Tamson's bairns,"* 



Let's a' shake hands thegither ; 

 An* drink "Auld Scotland," "Auld Lang Syne, 



"The Thistle" and "The Heather." 



Chorus. 



A. Hume. 

 *AH friends together. 



My Heather Hills 



O gladsome is the sea, wi' its heaving tide, 

 And bonnie are the plains in their simmer pride; 

 But the sea wi' its tide, and the plains wi' their rills 

 Are nae half sae dear as my heather hills. 

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