SONGS OF THE HEATHER. 



Your gaudy groves may well be green, 



Your towers may kiss the lift fu' eerie; 

 But ken they o' the birken screen 



Where ilka warbler sings sae cheerie? 

 Your flaunting flowers may tak' the ee, 



But fairer far than ony ither 

 The dark blue bells grow wild an' free 



Amang the braes o' blooming heather. 



The thistle waves aboon the cairns, 



To mark where lovely worth is sleepin'; 

 The dew-draps, frae the mossy ferns, 



Fa' down like tears o' Nature's weepin'. 

 'Mang Scotia's hills my hame shall be; 



The tartan plaid that screen'd my mither 

 Shall hap me, till the day I dee, 



Amang the braes o' blooming heather. 

 George W. Donald. 



When the Heather Scents the Air 



Canadian woods are bonny, 



And Canadian waters blue. 



When the summer airts the maple, 



And the clover drains the dew ; 



But a longing comes at mornin'. 



And at e'en the heart is sair, 



For the hills o' bonny Scotland, 



When the heather scents the air! 

 Oh ! hills sae broon an' bonny, 

 When the heather scents the air! 



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