SANG
[There is a land, I ken it weel]
1
There is a land, I ken it weel
Whose mountains touch the clouds,
Where pine-woods in the tempests reel
And eagles scream aloud;
A land of which a' hearts are proud,
That to that mountain neuk belang,
That land o' mist, & storm, & cloud,
Is dearest to my sang—
2
It is the native's dearest hame
On every foreign strand,
He sees it there in heart the same,
His ain, his native land;
Where the fir trees frowning stand
O'er the huge rocks black & strang,
Where the Bruce aince gave command
That's the burden of his sang—
3
T'is the heart o' every Scot
When he leaves his ain hearth stane,
His eye can see it not,
But tis in heart his ain;
He sees the hill & plain
Where he herded a' day lang,
When Scotland was his ain,
And the fire-side heard his sang—
