—
WILL you go to the Highlands my jewel with me,
Will you go to the Highlands the flocks for to see,
It is health to my jewel to breath this 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,
I love those vallies and sweet corn fields
More than all the blaeberries your wild mountains yield.
Our hills they are bonnie 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,
And set them on your table when December comes on.
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 berries and blue heather bloom.
Kilt up your green pladie walk over yon hill,
