The Song Book No. 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 with 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,
Busk's the glen in leafty bow'rs,
Then we'll seek the caller shade,
Lean us on the primrose bed;
I'll screen thee wi' my Highland Plaid,
While the burning hours preside.

Then we'll leave the sheep and goat,
I will launch the bonny boat,
Skim the loch wi' 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;
O row thee in my Highland plaid.

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