O for the bloom of my own native heather,
O for the burnie, the glade, and the glen;
Land of rare beauties all gather’d together --
Lasses all lovely and brave hearted men.
Up on the mountain, or down in the valley,
Lightly, O let me once more freely roam;
Round me again let my early friends rally,
And welcome with kind words the wandere home.
O give me the bloom of my own native
heather,
Give me the burnie, the glade, and the glen,
Land of rare beauties all gather’d together --
Home of true lasses and brave hearted me.
Talk not to me of the valley of roses,
Beautiful lakes in some land far away;
Climes where dame Nature her jewels disposes,
Starbeams whose lustre turns night into day.
Let them be all that their poets have vaunted,
Sunrays that dazzle may light up their zone,
Yet is my spirit more truly enchanted
By bright eyes that kindle up light in my own.
O give me the bloom of my own native
heather,
Give me the burnie, the glade, and the glen,
Land of rare beauties all gather’d together --
Home of true lasses and brave hearted me.
