The Book of Scottish Song/My Heather Land

My Heather Land.

[William Thom of Inverury.—Air, "The Black Watch."]

My heather land, my heather land!
⁠My dearest prayer be thine,
Although upon thy hapless heath
⁠There breathes nae friend of mine.
The lanely few that heaven has spared,
⁠Fend on a foreign strand;
And I maun wait to weep wi' thee,
⁠My hameless heather land.

My heather land, my heather land!
⁠Though fairer lands there be—
Thy gowanie braes in early days
⁠Were gowden ways to me.
Maun life's poor boon gae dark'ning doun,
⁠Nor die whaur it had dawn'd,
But claught a grave ayont the wave,—
⁠Alas, my heather land!

My heather land, my heather land!
⁠Though chilling winter pours
Her freezing breath round fireless hearth,
⁠Whaur breadless misery cowers!
Yet breaks the light that soon shall blight
⁠The godless reivin' hand—
Whaun wither'd tyranny shall reel
⁠Frae our roused heather land.

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