The Highland Plaid (4)/The Highland Plaid

by Robert Tannahill

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

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 nor wae shall thee betide,
When row'd within my Highland plaid.

Soon the voice of cheery Spring
Will gar a' our plantings ring:
Soon our bonny heather braes
Will put on their simmer claes;
On the mountain's sunny side,
We'll lean us on my Highland plaid.

When the summer spreads the flow'rs,
Busks the glens in leafy bow rs,
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 goats
I will launch the bonny boat,
Skim the loch in canty glee,
Rest the oars to pleasure thee;
When chilly breezes sweep the tide,
I'll hap thee wi' my Highland plaid.

Lowland lads may dress mair fine,
Woo in words mair saft than mine;
Lowland lads hae mair of art;
A' my boast's an honest heart,
Whilk shall ever be my pride,
To row thee in my Highland plaid.

Bonny lad ye've been sae leal,
My heart would break at our fareweel;
Lang your love has made me fain,
Take me—take me for your ain!
'Cross the Firth, away they glide,
Young Donald and his Lowland bride.

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