Robert Tannahill (1774–1810)

LET us go, lassie, go,

To the braes o’ Balquhither,

Where the blaeberries grow

’Mang the bonnie Highland heather;

Where the deer and the rae,

Lightly bounding together,

Sport the lang summer day

On the braes o’ Balquhither.

I will twine thee a bower

By the clear siller fountain,

And I’ll cover it o’er

Wi’ the flowers o’ the mountain;

I will range through the wilds,

And the deep glens sae dreary,

And return wi’ their spoils

To the bower o’ my dearie.

When the rude wintry win’

Idly raves round our dwelling,

And the roar of the linn

On the night breeze is swelling

So merrily we’ll sing,

As the storm rattles o’er us,

Till the dear shielin’ ring

Wi’ the light lilting chorus.

Now the summer is in prime,

Wi’ the flow’rs richly blooming

And the wild mountain thyme

A’ the moorlands perfuming;

To our dear native scenes

Let us journey together,

Where glad innocence reigns

’Mang the braes o’ Balquhither.