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 Then like our dads o‘ auld langſyne, let ſocial glee unite us a’, Aye blithe to meet our mau‘s to weet, but ay as ſweert to gang awa.

M Highland home, where tempeſts blow, and cold thy wintry locks, Thy mountains crown’d with driven ſnow, and ice bound are thy brooks; But colder far’s the Briton’s heart, however far he roam To whom theſe words no joy impart, “My native Highland home!”

Then gang wi‘ me to Scotland, dear, we ne‘er again will roam. And with thy ſmiles, ſo bonny, chear my native Highland home. When ſummer comes, the heather bell ſhall tempt thy feet to rove; The cuſhet-dove within the dell, invite to peace and love!

For blithſome is the breath of May, and ſweet the bonny broom, And pure the dimpling rills that play around my Highland home.