The Melodist/The Lass o' Arranteenie

by Robert Tannahill

For other versions of this work, see The Lass of Arranteenie.

The Lass o' Arranteenie.

By Tannahill.

Forlorn amang the Highland hills,
'Midst nature's wildest grandeur,
By rocky dens, an' woody glens,
With weary steps I wander:
The langsome way, the darksome day,
The mountain-mist sae rainy,
Are nought to me when gaun to thee,
Sweet Lass o' Arranteenie.

Yon mossy rose-bud down the howe.
Just op'ning fresh an' bonny,
Blinks sweetly 'neath the hazle-bough,
An's scarcely seen by ony:
Sae, sweet amidst her native hills,
Obscurely blooms my Jeany,
Mair fair and gay than rosy May,
The flow'r o' Arranteenie.

Now from the mountain's lofty brow,
I view the distant ocean,
There Av'rice guides the bounding prow,
Ambition courts promotion:
Let Fortune pour her golden store,
Her laurel'd favours man,.
Give me but this, my soul's first wish,
The Lass o' Arranteenie.

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