The Highland Plaid (1)/The Highland Plaid

by Robert Tannahill

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

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THE HIGHLAND PLAID.

Lowland lassie, wilt thou go
Where the hills are clad wi' snow;
Where, beneath the icy steep,
The hardy shepherd tends his sheep;
Ill not wae shall 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 burning 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 up the wi' my wig Highland plaid.

Lowland lads may dress mair fine,
Woo in word mair saft than mine:
Lowland lads hae mair of art,
A' my boast's an honest heart,
Whilk shall ever be 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.

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