O what, lassie, what, if your Highland lad be slain?
O what, lassie, what, if your Highland lad be slain?
O no! true love will be his guard, and bring him safe again;
For I never could live without my Highlandman!
O when, and O when, will your Highland lad come hame?
O when, and O when, will your Highland lad come hame?
Whene'er the war is over, he'll return to me with fame;
And I'll plait a wreath of flowers for my lovely Highlandman.
O what will you claim for your constancy to him?
O what will you claim for your constancy to him?
I'll claim a priest to marry us, a clerk to say Amen;
And I'll ne'er part again from my bonnie Highlandman.
The Scottish Blue Bells.
[Written by the late Charles Doyne Sillery. The Music by George Barke.]
Let the proud Indian boast of his jessamine bowers,
His pastures of perfume, and rose-covered dells;
While humbly I sing of those wild little flowers,
The blue bells of Scotland, the Scottish blue bells.
Wave, wave your dark plumes, ye proud sons of the mountain,
For brave is the chieftain your prowess who quells,
And dreadful your wrath as the foam-flashing fountain,
That calms its wild waves 'mid the Scottish blue bells.
Then strike the loud harp to the land of the river,
The mountain, the valley, with all their wild spells,
And shout in the chorus for ever and ever,
The blue bells of Scotland, the Scottish blue bells.
Sublime are your hills when the young day is beaming,
And green are your groves with their cool crystal wells,
And bright are your broadswords, like morning dews gleaming
On blue bells of Scotland, on Scottish blue bells.
Awake! ye light fairies that trip o'er the heather,
Ye mermaids, arise from your coralline cells,
Come forth with your chorus all chanting together,
The blue bells of Scotland, the Scottish blue bells.
Then strike the loud harp to the land of the river,
The mountain, the valley, with all their wild spells,
And shout in the chorus for ever and ever,
The blue bells of Scotland, the Scottish blue bells.
