The Book of Scottish Song/The Lomond
The Lomond.
[Wm. Chalmers.]
"O, lassie, wilt thou go
To the Lomond wi' me,
The wild thyme's in bloom,
And the flow'r's on the lea;
Wilt thou go, my dearest love?
I will ever constant prove,
I'll range each hill and grove
On the Lomond wi' thee."
"O young men are fickle,
Nor trusted to be,
And many a native gem
Shines lair on the lea.
Thou may see some lovely flower
Of a more attractive power,
And may take her to thy bower,
On the Lomond wi' thee."
"The hynd shall forsake,
On the mountain, the doe,
The stream of the fountain
Shall cease for to flow;
Ben-Lomond shall bend
His high brow to the sea,
Ere I take to my bower,
Any flower, love, but thee."
She's taken her mantle,
He's taken his plaid;
He coft her a ring,
And he made her his bride:
They're far o'er yon hills
To spend their happy days,
And range the woody glens
'Mang the Lomond braes.