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To the braes of Balquither, Where the blae berries grow 'Mang the bonny! Highland heather; Where thy deer and the roe, Lightly bounding together, Sport the lang summer day On the braes o' Balquither.

I will twine you a bow'r By the clear siller fountain; And I'll cover it o'er Wi' the flowr's o' the mountain; I'll range thro' the wilds, And the steep glens sae dreary, And return wi' their spoils To the bow'r o' my deary,

While the lads o' the south Toil for bare warly treasure, To the lads o' the north Ev'ry day brings its pleasure Tho' simple are the joys The brave Highlander possesses, Yet he feels no annoys, For he fears no distresses.

When the rude wintry win' Idly raves round his dwelling, And the roar of the linn, On the night breeze is swelling, Then so merrily he'll sing, As the storm rattles o'er him, To the dear sheeling ring, Wi' the light lilting jorum.