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Will fire our blood for evermore,
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie."


AIR-Lord Aboyne.

CALEDONIA! thou land of the mountain and rock; Of the ocean, the mist, and the wind:

Thou land of the torrent, the pine, and the oak; Of the roe-buck, the heart, and the hind: Though bare are thy cliffs, and though barren thy


Though bleak thy dun islands appear;

Yet kind are the hearts, and undaunted the clans, That roam on those mountains so drear.

Thou land of the bay, and the headland so steep; Of the eagle that hovers on high

O'er the still lake, where, etch'd on his bosom,


Lie the mountain, the cloud, and the sky. Thou land of the valley, the moor and the hill; Of the storm, and the proud rolling wave; Yes, thou art the land of fair liberty still!

And the land of my forefathers' grave.

A foe from abroad, or a tyrant at home,
Could never thy ardour restrain;

The invincible bands of imperial Rome
Assay'd thy proud spirit in vain.
Firm seat of religion, of valour, of truth,
Of genius unshackled and free;

The Muses have left all the vales of the south,
My lov'd Caledonia, for thee.


I LIKE the weel, my wee auld house,
Tho' laigh thy wa's an' flat the riggin,
Though round thy lum the sourock grows,
An' rain-draps gaw by cozy biggin',
Lang hast thou happit mine and me,

My head's grown gray aneath thy kipple, And aye the ingle cheek was free

Baith to the blind man an' the cripple.

What gart my ewes thrive on the hill,
An' kept my little store increasin'?
The rich man never wish'd me ill,

The poor man left me aye his blessin'.
Troth I maun greet wi' thee to part,

Though to a better house I'm flittin'; Sic joys will never glad my heart

As I've had by this hallan sittin'.

My bonny bairns around me smiled
My sonsy wife sat by me spinning,
Aye lilting o'er her ditties wild,

In notes sae artless an' sae winning.
Our frugal meal was aye a feast,

Our e'ening psalm a hymn of joy; Sae calm an' peacefu' was our rest,

Our bliss, our love, without alloy.

I canna help but haud the dear,

My auld storm-batter'd, homely shieling; Thy sooty lum, an' kipples clear

I better love than gaudy ceiling. Thy roof will fa', thy rafters start,

How damp an' cauld thy earth will be! Ah! sae will soon ilk honest heart,

That erst was blythe and bauld in thee!

I thought to cower aneath thy wa',

'Till death should close my weary een, Then leave thee for the narrow ha',

Wi' lowly roof o' sward sae green. Fareweel my house an' burnie clear,

My bourtree bush an' bowzy tree! The wee while I maun sojourn here, I'll never find a hame like thee.





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