The Canary/The Highland Plaid

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4509813The Canary — The Highland PlaidRobert Tannahill

The Highland Plaid.

Lowland lassie, wilt thou go,
Whare the hills are clad wi' snow;
Whare beneath the icy steep,
The hardy shepherd tends his sheep;
Ill nor wae shall thee betide,
I'll row thee in my Highland plaid.

Soon the voice o' cheery spring,
Will gar our birken plantings ring;
Soon our bonny heather braes,
Will put on their simmer claes;
On the mountains sunny side
We'll lean us on my Highland plaid.

When the simmer spreads the flow'rs,
Basks the glens in leafy bow'rs,
Then we'll seek the caller shade,
Lean us on the primrose bed,
While the burning hours preside,
I'll screen thee wi' my Highland plaid.

Then we'll leave the sheep an' goat,
I will launch the bonny boat,
Skim the loch in canty glee,
Rest the oars to pleasure thee,
When chilly breezes sweep the tide,
I'll hap thee wi' my Highland plaid.

Lowland lads may dress mair fine,
Woo in words mair fast than mine;
Lowland lads hae mair o' art,
A' my boast's an honest heart,
Whilk shall ever be my pride—
O row thee in my Highland plaid.

Bonny lad, ye've been fae leal,
My heart would break at our fareweel,
Lang your love has made me fain,
Tak' me—tak' me for your ain!"
'Cross the firth, awa' they glide,
Young Donald and his Lowland bride.

The Galley Slave

Oh, think on my fate! once I freedom enjoy'd,
Was as happy as happy could be,
But pleasure is fled! even Hope is destroy'd,
A captive, alas! on the sea.
I was ta'en by the foe, 'twas the fiat of Fate
To tear me from her I adore,
When thought brings to mind my once happy estate,
I sigh! while I tug at the oar.