Robert Nicoll

The Place That I Love Best

WHERE the purple heather blooms
    Amang the rocks sae gray—
Where the moorcock's whirring flight,
    Is heard at break of day—
Where Scotland's bagpipes ring
    Alang the mountain's breast—
Where laverocks lilting sing,
    Is the place that I love best!

Where the lonely shepherd tends
    His bleating hill-side flock—
Where the raven bigs its nest
    In the crevice of the rock—
Where the guardian beacon-tower
    Seems ilk rugged mountain's crest,
To watch aboon auld Scotland's glens,
    Is the place that I love best!

Where the shepherd's reeking cot
    Peeps from the broomy glen—
Where the aik-tree throws its leaves
    O'er the lowly but an' ben—
Where the stanch auld-warld honesty
    Is in the puir man's breast,
And truth a guest within his hame,
    Is the place that I love best!

Where the gray-haired peasant tells
    The deeds his sires have done,
Of martyrs slain in Scotland's muirs,
    Of battles lost and won—
Wherever prayer and praise arise
    Ere toil-worn men can rest,
From each humble cottage fane,
    Is the place that I love best!

Where my ain auld mither dwells,
    And longs ilk day for me—
While my father strokes his reverend head,
    Whilk gray eneuch maun be—
Where the hearts in kirkyards rest
    That were mine when youth was blest
As we rowed amang the gowans,
    Is the place that I love best!

Where the plover frae the sky
    Can send its wailing song,
Sweet mingled wi' the burnie's gush.
    That saftly steals along—
Where heaven taught to ROBERT BURNS
    Its hymns in language drest—
The land of Doon—its banks and braes—
    Is the place that I love best!

Where the straths are fair and green,
    And the forests waving deep—
Where the hill-top seeks the clouds—
    Where the caller tempests sweep—
Where thoughts of freedom come
    To me a welcome guest—
Where the free of soul were nursed,
    Is the place that I love best!