Louden's bonny woods and braes/The Hills O' Gallowa

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THE HILLS O‘ GALLOWA.

Tune—The Lee Rig.

Amang the birks, sae blythe and gay,
⁠I met my Julia hameward gaun:
The linties chantit on the spray,
⁠The lammies leupit on the lawn;
⁠On ilka swaird the hay was mawn;
The braes wi‘ gowans buskit braw;
⁠And gloamin's plaid o’ grey was thrawn
Out o'er the hills o' Gallowa.

Wi‘ music wild the woodlands rang,
⁠And fragrance wing’d alang the lee,
When down we sat, the flowers amang,
⁠Upon the banks of stately Dee;
⁠My Julia's arms encircled me;
Then sweetly slade the hours awa,
⁠Till dawning coost a glimmerin' ee
Upon the hills o' Gallowa.

It is na owsen, sheep, and kye,
⁠It is na gowd, it is na gear,
This lifted ee wad hae quo' I,
⁠The warld's drumlie gloom to cheer;
⁠But gi to me my Julia dear,
Ye Powers wha row this yirthen ba',

⁠And O sae blythe through life I'll steer
Amang the hills o’ Gallowa.

When gleamin daunders up the hill.
⁠And our gudeman ca's hame the cows,
Wi’ her I‘ll trace the mossy rill
⁠That through the rushes dimpled rows;
⁠Or tint amang the scraggy knowes,
My birken pipe I'll sweetly blaw,
⁠And sing the streams, the straths, and howes,
The hills and dales o‘ Gallowa.

And when auld Scotland's heathy hills
⁠Her rural nymphs and jovial swains,
Her flow’ry wilds and wimplin rills,
⁠Awake nae mair my cantie strains;
⁠Where friendship dwells and freedom reigns,
Where heather blooms and moor-cocks craw,
⁠O dig my grave, and lay my banes
Amang the hills o’ Gallowa.