Page:Gems of Tannahill's songs, &c. &c..pdf/6

 6 Yon cauld sleety cloud skiffs alang the black moun And shakes the dark firs on the steep rocky bra While down the deep glen brawls the snaw-flow fountain, That murmur'd sae sweet to my laddie and me 'Tis no its loud roar in the wintry wind swellin', 'Tis no the cauld blast brings the tears i' my e'e For, O, gin I saw but my bonny Scots callan, The dark days o' winter were summer to me.

THE BRAES OF BALQUITHER. Let us go, lassie, go, To the braes o' Balquither, Where the blae-berries grow Mang the bonny Highland heather, Where the deer and the roe, Lightly bounding together, Sport the lang summer day On the braes o' Balquither. I will twine thee a bower, By the clear silver fountain ; And I'll cover it o'er Wi' the flowers o' the mountain; I will range thro' the wilds, And the deep glens sae dreary, And return wi' their spoils, When the rude wintry win' Idly raves round our dwelling And the roar o' the linn On the night breeze is swelling,