The Blaeberry Courtship.
Will you go the Highlands, my jewel, with me,
Wil you go the Highlands the flocks for to see,
health to my jewel to breath the sweet air,
And to pull the blackberries in the forest so fair.
To the Highlands, my jewel, I will not go with thee,
For the road it is long, and the hills they are high,
love those vallies and sweet corn fields,
More than all the blaeberries your wild mountains yield.
Our hills they are bonny when the heather’s in bloom,
It would cheer a fine fancy in the month of June,
To pull the blaeberries and carry them home, [on.
And set them on your table when December comes.
Out spake her father, that saucy old man,
You might have chosen a mistress among your own clan.
It’s but poor entertainment to our Lowland dames,
To promise them heather and blue heatner bloom.
Kilt up your green plaidie, walk over yon hill,
For a sight of your Highland face does me much ill,
For I will wed my daughter and spare pennies too,
To whom my heart pleases, and what’s that to you.
