'Twas on a Friday afternoon,I took a trip aboon Glenfroin,To see a Concert there begin,Amang the braes o' Lomond.That day the snaw lay on the braes,Bright Phœbus had withdrawn his rays,And Winter had put on her claithes,Amang the braes o' Lomond.
But tho' without was wet and cauld,Within we were baith blythe and bauld,Wi' vocal strains frae young and auld,Amang the braes o' Lomond.For the braw lasses o' the glen,(But for their names I dinna ken)They danc'd and sang till I grew fain,Amang the braes o' Lomond.
Their vocal strains war sweet and rare,Nought wi' their dancing could compare,Assembly-balls are naething mairThan Concerts at Lochlomond.For a' the youths were dress'd sae gay,Their music did so sweetly play,That ilka heart, till break of day,Rejoic'd about Lochlomond.
Poetic fire can scarce descriheTheir beauty a'; without a bribe,And justice gi'e to ilka trike,Amang the braes o' Lomond.For me, I frankly this will say,Should men endure on earth for ay;I'd freely spend perpetual dayAmang the braes o' Lomond.
Divider from 'The Linnet', a chapbook printed in Falkirk in 1819
_-_divider_type_9.jpg)