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| HE’S ower the hills that I lo’e weel, | |
| He’s ower the hills we daurna name; | |
| He’s ower the hills ayont Dunblane, | |
| Wha soon will get his welcome hame. | |
| |
| My faither’s gane to fecht for him, | 5 |
| My brithers winna bide at hame; | |
| My mither greets and prays for them, | |
| And, ’deed, she thinks they’re no to blame. | |
| |
| The Whigs may scoff, the Whigs may jeer, | |
| But ah! that love maun be sincere | 10 |
| Which still keeps true whate’er betide, | |
| And for his sake leaves a’ beside. | |
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| His right these hills, his right these plains; | |
| O’er Hieland hearts secure he reigns; | |
| What lads e’er did our lads will do; | 15 |
| Were I a laddie I’d follow him too. | |
| |
| Sae noble a look, sae princely an air, | |
| Sae gallant and bold, sae young and sae fair; | |
| O did ye but see him ye’d do as we’ve done; | |
| Hear him but once, to his standard you’ll run. | 20 |
| |
| He’s ower the hills that I lo’e weel; | |
| He’s ower the hills we daurna name; | |
| He’s ower the hills ayont Dunblane, | |
| Wha soon will get his welcome hame. | |
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