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HE'S OWRE THE HILLS THAT I LO'E WEEL.
Author unknown. Music arranged by R. A. SMITH. Key-note A.
He's owre the hills that I lo'e weel,
He's owre the hills we darena name,
He's owre the hills ayont Dumblane,
Wha soon will get his welcome hame.
My father's gane to fight for him,
My brithers winna bide at hame,
My mither greets and prays for them,
And 'deed she thinks they're no to blame.
He's owre the hills, &c.
The whigs may scoff and the whigs may jeer;
But, ah ! that love maun be sincere,
Which still keeps true, whate'er bétide,
An' for his sake leaves a' beside.
He's owre the hills, &c.
His right these hills, his right these plains ;
O'er Highland hearts secure he reigns.
What lads e'er did our laddies will do ;
Were I a laddie I'd follow him too.
He's owre the hills, &c.
Sae noble a look, sae princely an air,
Sae gallant and bold, sae young and sae fair;
0! did ye but see him, ye'd do as we've done ;
Hear him but ance, to his standard you'd run.
He's owre the hills, &c.
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HEY BONNIE LASSIE BLINK OVER THE BURN.
Words by the Rev. JAMES HONEYMAN. Key-note A minor.
HEY, bonnie lassie, blink over the burn,
And gin your sheep wander, I'll gie them a turn;
And we'll be sae happy in yonder green shade,
Gin ye'll be my dawtie, and sit in my plaid.
I hae a wee doggie that rins at my heel,
And, oh, that wee doggie I likit it weel;
But I'll gie't to my lassie, an' mair gin I had,
Gin she'll be my dawtie, and sit in my plaid.
A ewe and twa lammies, are a' my haill stock,
But I'll sell a lammie out o' my wee flock,
And buy thee a head-lace, sae bonnie an' braid,
Gin ye'll be my dawtie, and sit in my plaid.
I hae little siller but ae hauf-year's fee,
But gin ye will tak' it, I'll gie't a' to thee;
An' ere the lang winter-time we will be wed,
Gin ye'll be my dawtie, and sit in my plaid.
