Garland of songs/The lass o' Arranteinie
THE LASS OF ARRANTEINIE.
Forlorn among the Highland hills,
'midst nature's wildest grandeur,
By rocky dens an' woody glens,
with weary steps I wander;
The langsome way, the darksome day,
the mountain mist sae rainy,
Are nought to me when gaun to thee,
sweet Lass d'Arranteinie.
You mossy rose-bud down the howe,
just opening fresh and bonny,
Blinks sweetly 'neath the hazle-bough,
an's scarcely seen by ony;
Sae sweet amidst her native hills,
blooms my Jeany,
Mair fair an gay than rosy May,
the flower o' Arranteinie.
Now from the mountain's lofty brow,
I view the distant ocean;
There Avarice guides the bounding prow,
ambition courts promotion,
Let Fortune pour her golden store.
her laurel'd favors many;
Give me but this, my soul's first wish;
the Lass o' Arranteinie.
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