| |
| THEY tell me in yon sunny land | |
| The palm-tree shades the mountain, | |
| An’ they tell me o’ their myrtle groves, | |
| And the crystal-gushing fountain; | |
| They tell me o’ the clustering vine | 5 |
| The flowery path concealing; | |
| But they cudna’ please this heart o’ mine | |
| Like the bonnie bowers o’ Tealing. | |
| |
| They kenna’ o’ the scented thorn, | |
| The birk and broom sae yellow; | 10 |
| They kenna’ o’ the mavis’ sang, | |
| Or the blackbird’s note sae mellow; | |
| They kenna o’ the zephyrs mild, | |
| Or the balmy breeze so healing, | |
| That softly shakes the dewy flowers | 15 |
| ’Mang the bonnie bowers o’ Tealing. | |
| |
| I ’ve wandered far, I ’ve wandered wide, | |
| On Scotia’s rugged bosom; | |
| I ’ve pu’d the rose in a’ its pride, | |
| An’ the lily’s gowden blossom; | 20 |
| But the fairest flower that ere I saw | |
| Was by the burnie, stealing | |
| And murmuring through its gow’ny banks, | |
| ’Mang the bonny bowers o’ Tealing. | |
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