Poems and Songs By Robert Gilfillan. Fourth edition. With memoir of the author, and appendix of his latest pieces |
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MY HOME IS THE HIGHLANDS. |
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 | Poems and Songs |  |
MY HOME IS THE HIGHLANDS.
My home is the Highlands, that home that is dearest,
Where woods are the darkest and streamlets the clearest;
No arts of the Lawlands, with fashions so gaudy,
The mountains for me and my dear Highland laddie.
O! there the dun deer in its wild freedom boundeth,
And there the shrill pibroch its martial notes soundeth;
A thousand bright swords to its summons are ready,
And first 'mong the brave is my dear Highland laddie.
Where woods are the darkest and streamlets the clearest;
No arts of the Lawlands, with fashions so gaudy,
The mountains for me and my dear Highland laddie.
O! there the dun deer in its wild freedom boundeth,
And there the shrill pibroch its martial notes soundeth;
A thousand bright swords to its summons are ready,
And first 'mong the brave is my dear Highland laddie.
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Our heath-covered mountains are boldest and steepest,
Our bright-bosomed waters are fairest and deepest;
O'er steep rock or streamlet with foot free and steady,
As swift as the roe comes my dear Highland laddie.
His eye is as keen as the eagle's high soaring,
His soul only yields to his loved maid adoring;
His heart it is true, and his cheek it is ruddy,
And kind, kind to me is my dear Highland laddie.
Our bright-bosomed waters are fairest and deepest;
O'er steep rock or streamlet with foot free and steady,
As swift as the roe comes my dear Highland laddie.
His eye is as keen as the eagle's high soaring,
His soul only yields to his loved maid adoring;
His heart it is true, and his cheek it is ruddy,
And kind, kind to me is my dear Highland laddie.
As high as the pine-tree that waves on the mountain,
As pure as the light stream that flows from the fountain,
So high is his heart, and so pure and as steady,
The love that I bear to my dear Highland laddie.
His parting is only to cheer his returning,
He speeds o'er the lake like a bird of the morning,
With sails snowy white and streamers so gaudy—
The mountains for me, and my dear Highland laddie!
As pure as the light stream that flows from the fountain,
So high is his heart, and so pure and as steady,
The love that I bear to my dear Highland laddie.
His parting is only to cheer his returning,
He speeds o'er the lake like a bird of the morning,
With sails snowy white and streamers so gaudy—
The mountains for me, and my dear Highland laddie!
| Poems and Songs | |