The Linnet (1819, Falkirk)/The Lass of Arranteinie
For other versions of this work, see The Lass of Arranteenie.
The Lass o' Arranteinie.
Forlorn amang the Highland hills,'midst Natures wildest grandeur,By rocky dens an' woody glens,with weary steps I wander;The langsome way, the darksome day;the mountain mist so rainyAre nought to me, when eaun to thee,sweet Lass O' Arranteinie.
Yon mossy rose-bud. down the nowe,just opening fresh and bonnyBlinks sweerty 'neath the hazle-bough,and scarcely seen by ony:Sae sweet amidst her native hills,obscurely blooms my Jenny, Mair fair an gay than rosy May,the flower of Arranteinie.
Now from the mountain's lofty brow, I view the distant ⟨ocean⟩There avarice guides the bounding prow,ambition courts promotion:Let fortune pour her golden store,her laurel favors many:Give me but this, my soul's first wish,The Lass of Arranteinie.
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