The Wild Glen.
[Rev. Henry Scott Riddell. Set to music by Peter Macleod.]
When my flocks upon the heathy hill are lying a' at rest,
And the gloamin' spreads its mantle grey, o'er the world's dewy breast,
I'll tak' my plaid and hasten through yon woody dell unseen,
And meet my bonnie lassie in the wild glen sae green.
I'll meet her by the trystin' tree that's staunin' a' alane,
Where I have carved her name upon the little moss-grey stane,
There I will clasp her to my breast, and be mair blest, I ween,
Then a' that are aneath the sky, in the wild glen sae green.
My faldin' plaid shall shield her frae the gloamin's chilly gale
The star o' eve shall mark our joy but shall not tell her tale,
Our simple tale o' tender love that tauld sae aft has been,
To my bonnie bonnie lassie in the wild glen sae green.
Oh! I could wander earth a' owre nor care for aught o' bliss,
If I might share at my return a joy sae pure as this;
And I could spurn a' earthly wealth, a palace and a queen,
For my bonnie bonnie lassie in the wild glen sae green.
The Hawthorn Tree.
[Written by the Rev. W. Hetherington, A. M., of Torphichen.—Tune, "There grows a bonnie Brier Bush."]
O sweet are the blossoms o' the hawthorn tree,
The bonnie milky blossoms o' the hawthorn tree.
When the saft wastlin' wind, as it wanders ower the lea,
Comes laden wi' the breath o' the hawthorn tree.
Lovely is the rose in the dewy month o' June,
And the lily gently bending beneath the sunny noon;
But the dewy rose, nor lily fair, is half sae sweet to me,
As the bonnie milky blossoms o' the hawthorn tree.
O, blythe at fair and market fu' aften ha'e I been,
And wi' a crony frank and leal some happy hours I've seen;
But the blythest hours I e'er enjoy'd were shar'd, my love, wi' thee,
In the gloamin', 'neath the bonnie bonnie hawthorn tree.
Sweetly sang the blackbird, low in the woody glen,
And fragrance sweet spread on the gale, licht ower the dewy plain;
But thy saft voice and sighing breath were sweeter far to me,
While whispering o' love beneath the hawthorn tree.
