Clutha, wi' truest love I love thee, Jean/The Highland Plaid

by Robert Tannahill

For other versions of this work, see The Highland Plaid.

---

THE HIGHLAMD PLAID.

Lowland lassie, wilt thou go
Where the hills are clad wi' snow;
Where, beneath the icy steep,
The hardy shepherd tends his sheep;
I'll nor wae shad thee betide,
When row'd within my Highland plaid.

Soon the voice of cheerie Spring
Will gar a' our plantings ring;
Soon our bonnie heather braes
Will put on their summer claes:
On the mountain's sunnie side,
We'll lean us on my Highland plaid.

When the summer spreads the flowers,
Busks the glen in leafy bowers,
Then we'll seek the caller shade,
Lean us on the primrose bed:
While the burring hours preside,
I’ll screen thee wi’ my Highland plaid.

Then we'll leave the sheep and goat,
I will launch the bonnie boat,
Skim the loch in cantie glee,
Rest the oars to pleasure thee:
When ⟨chilly breezes sweep⟩ the tide,
I'll ⟨hap thee wi'⟩ my Highland Plaid.

Lowland lads may dresss mair fine,
Woo in words mair saft than mine:
Lowland lads hae mair of art,
A' my boast's and honest heart,
Whilk shall ever ha my pride,
O row me in thy highland plaid.

Bonnie lad, ye've been so leal,
My heart would break at our fareweel;
Lang your love has made me fain,
Tak me—tak me for your ain:
'Cross the Frith, away they glide,
Young Donald and his Lowland bride.