Robert Nicoll

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WE'LL a' go pu' the heather—
    Our byres are a' to theek:
Unless the peat-stack get a hap,
    We'll a' be smoored wi' reek.
Wi' rantin' sang, awa we'll gang,
    While summer skies are blue,
To fend against the Winter cauld
    The heather we will pu'.

I like to pu' the heather,
    We're aye sae mirthfu' where
The sunshine creeps atour the crags,
    Like ravelled golden hair.
Where on the hill tap we can stand,
    Wi' j oyfu' heart I trow,
And mark ilk grassy bank and holm,
    As we the heather pu'.

I like to pu' the heather—
    Where harmless lambkins run,
Or lay them down beside the burn,
    Like gowans in the sun;
Where ilka foot can tread upon
    The heath-flower wet wi' dew,
When comes the starnie o'er the hill,
    While we the heather pu'.

I like to pu' the heather,
    For ane can gang awa,
But no before a glint o' love
    On some ane's e'e doth fa'.
Sweet words we dare to whisper there,
    "My hinny and my doo,"
Till maistly we wi' joy could greet
    As we the heather pu'.

We'll a' go pu' the heather—
    For at yon mountain fit
There stands a broom bush by a burn,
    Where twa young folk can sit:
He meets me there at morning's rise,
    My beautiful and true.
My father's said the word—the morn
    The heather we will pu'.