Robert Tannahill

The Lass o’ Arranteenie

FAR lone amang the Highland hills,
  Midst Nature’s wildest grandeur,
By rocky dens and woody glens
  With weary steps I wander.
The langsome way, the darksome day,
  The mountain mist sae rainy,
Are naught to me when gaun to thee,
  Sweet lass o’ Arranteenie.

Yon mossy rosebud down the howe,
  Just opening fresh and bonny,
Blinks sweetly ’neath the hazel bough,
  And ’s scarcely seen by ony;
Sae sweet amidst her native hills
  Obscurely blooms my Jeanie,
Mair fair and gay than rosy May,
  The flower o’ Arranteenie.

Now from the mountain’s lofty brow
  I view the distant ocean,
There Avarice guides the bounding prow,
  Ambition courts promotion:—
Let Fortune pour her golden store,
  Her laurelled favors many;
Give me but this, my soul’s first wish,
  The lass o’ Arranteenie.