Oh! Rowan Tree, Oh!
Rowan Tree, thou'lt aye be dear to me,
Intwin'd thou art wi' mony ties o' hame and infancy.
Thy leaves were aye the first o' spring, thy flow'rs the simmer's
pride;
There was nae sic a bonny tree, in a' the countrie side.
Oh! Rowan Tree.
How fair wert thou in simmer time, wi'
a' thy clusters white,
How rich and gay thy autumn dress, wi' berries red and bright;
On thy fair stem were mony names, which now nae mair I see,
But they're engraven on my heart-forgot they ne'er can be!
Oh! Rowan Tree.
We sat aneath thy spreading shade, the
bairnies round thee ran,
They pu'd thy bonny berries red, and necklaces they strang;
My mother! Oh! I see her still, she smil'd our sports to see,
Wi' little Jeanie on her lap, an' Jamie at her knee!
Oh! Rowan Tree.
Oh! there arose my father's prayer, in
holy evening's calm,
How sweet was then my mother's voice, in the Martyr's psalm;
Now a' are gane! we meet nae mair aneath the Rowan Tree;
But hallowed thoughts around thee twine o' hame and infancy.
Oh! Rowan Tree.
