HE'S owre the hills that I lo'e weel,
He's owre the hills we daurna name;
He's owre the hills ayont Dunblane,
Wha soon will get his welcome hame.
My faither's gane to fight for him,
My brithers winna bide at hame ;
My mither greets and prays for them,
And 'deed she thinks they're no to blame.
He's owre the hills, &c.
The Whigs may scoff, the Whigs may
jeer,
But ah ! that love maun be sincere,
Which still keeps true whate'er betide,
An' for his sake leaves a' beside.
He's owre the hills, &c.
His right these hills, his right these plains;
O'er Hieland hearts secure he reigns;
What lads e'er did our lads will do;
Were I a laddie, I'd follow him too.
He's owre the hills, &c.
Sae noble a look, sae princely an air,
Sae gallant and bold, sae young and sae fair;
Oh! did ye but see him, ye'd do as we've done;
Hear him but ance, to his standard you'll run.
He's owre the hills that I lo'e weel,
He's owre the hills we daurna name;
He's owre the hills ayont Dunblane,
Wha soon will get his welcome hame.
