The Book of Scottish Song/Loch Cathrine

Loch Cathrine.

Amid Loch Cat'rine's scenery wild,
Is seen my lassie's dwelling,
Where cavern'd rocks on mountains pil'd
Howl to the sea-breeze swelling:—
She's purer than the snaw that fa's
On mountain's summit airy;
The sweetest mountain flow'r that blaws
Is not so fair as Mary.

'Tis sweet when woodland echo rings,
Where purling streams meander,
But sweeter when my Mary sings,
As through the glens we wander.
The wild deer on the mountain side,
The fabled elf or fairy,
Or skiff, that skims the crystal tide,
Moves not more light than Mary.

From Lowland plains I've wandered far,
In endless search of pleasure;
Till guided by some friendly star,
I found this lovely treasure.
Although my native home has charms,
Amang these hills I'll tarry;
And while life's blood my bosom warms,
I'll love my dearest ilary.

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